Devil's Sexton
by AFIS
Summary: Back from their honeymoon, Jane and Maura are settling into their new role as mother to their son. A routine case that proves to be anything but, however, forces both women to deal with shake-ups that bring in new faces and conflicts from their past. Sixth and final full length installment in the Boston series.
1. Prologue

**Devil's Sexton**

An AFIS production - 6th full length installment in the Boston series

Obviously, I don't own these characters or their universe. If I did, I wouldn't be on posting stuff for the fanboys/fangirls. So don't sue the poor grad student.

A/N - It's been awhile, but I'm back...sort of. My last one-shot (Tahitian Sunset) didn't end on the right note, in my opinion, so I decided to interrupt my self-imposed hiatus to give all of my long-term readers a little bit more closure.

* * *

\- Prologue -

"It smells like shit."

Two lone men shuffled through the damp fog, ignoring the mud beginning to cake upon their ill-fitting jeans. The younger of the two shook his head in frustration, a weak attempt to get the rank smell from his nose. With long blonde curls framing his face like a male model gracing the covers of hipster magazines, one could almost forget that his bedraggled appearance and sweaty aroma marked him and his accomplice as just another member of the growing homeless population rising up to take Boston's streets after the sun dimmed behind the horizon.

After shuffling forward in the heavy fog for several seconds, the elder of the two stopped all forward movement, his feet sinking into the muddy molasses like it had paid six months' rent upfront and was all too happy to move in. A wet cough bellowed from his mouth, the wet cough of the terminally ill. The younger winced before shivering to a stop next to the elder.

Thick fog continued to hover ominously around the two, demanding their attention but still ignored. In protest, the fog continued to roll through the area, obscuring all but two lone trees in the distance keeping silent guard. Two cones of light broke through the soupy white vapor along with the sound of an expensive sport-bike using the empty roads as an opportunity to unleash its true speed on the asphalt.

"Man…don't you smell that? It really does smell like shit."

The elder turned with a dramatic eye-roll before resuming his search of the fog for a hidden sign of…something. "It only smells because you refuse to shower on a regular basis, Trey." He jerked the young man's flannel shirt, shaking his head at the clumps of dirt that dropped down in response. "Being homeless doesn't mean you get a free pass to stop trying to be civil."

"Easy for you to say, old man. I don't have the benefit of a social security check to keep me afloat."

Another wet cough from the elder interrupted the short conversation, this time forcing him to double over and spit out a chunk of coagulated mass of diseased lung, saliva, and mucus that sat on the mud around their feet in disgust. Even Mother Nature didn't want the refuse of the diseased as the wad of shit continued to wait to be absorbed on the soil. Trey looked upon the man in boredom. He slapped him in the middle of his back after several seconds of waiting, clearly trying to speed along this process of late-night trolling in forbidden locations.

"C'mon," Trey whined, looking around the heavy fog. "We don't got all day. Let's go get the shit so we can get you back to your hermetically sealed casket."

The elder laughed weakly. "You'll need a hospice one day too, you know."

"Well, that day is a long way off. I'm twenty-six and you're sixty-five. You're on the way out and I'm struggling for a way in. Let's find that golden ticket you were raving about."

Nodding in agreement, the elder continued his slow shuffle through the fog. The heavy mud subsided into clearly organized plots of earth, carefully tended green grass beckoning them forward through the dense white cover obscuring everything outside of a fifteen yard radius. The occasional appearance of a large cross and black blocks of limestone and granite with elaborate gold script signaled their arrival at their intended location: a graveyard. An empty security booth loomed in the distance, a lone beacon of light its only distinction in the murk. The two men picked up the pace across the wet grass to avoid being seen, despite the soupiness of the fog making all risk negligible, at best.

"Are you sure about this, old man?" Trey frowned, looking up at the impressive prominence of their location upon reaching its heavy doors. Even with the fog, the place seemed to be emanating a repulsive force, asking them to stay away.

The old man stretched his limbs before taking a key out of the duffel bag slung around his shoulder. "Don't flake on me now. I told you, people need organs and this is the easiest way to get 'em. Unless you grew a pair and want to hijack those med school trucks with donated bodies in them? You can sell a kidney on the black market for fifteen and up."

"And how the hell do you know that?"

"Because I made crazy money back in the day getting rid of bodies that big time bosses like Paddy Doyle needed gone. Prices for organs haven't changed that much, kiddo. Supply is low, demand stays high."

"Yeah, and Paddy Doyle is doing so great last time I read the papers. Time in a federal penitentiary for every white collar crime in the book sounds like a grand ol' time, by the way."

The old man frowned before slapping his son-in-law on the ass. Trey jumped in shock, unfamiliar with the act of being swatted in such a way. Old people always get a pass to be weird, gross, and just perverted because they always have the "I've-seen-things-in-Vietnam" card ready and waiting in their back pocket. Trey could do nothing but shake his head at the man, secretly hoping he'd just drop dead now so he could get the hell out of here. He couldn't be this damn desperate.

"Grow up. The money you make from selling a couple of kidneys, lungs, and what have you will get you and my granddaughter out of Boston and in a city where you can get a better chance to find some real employment. You need this, Trey. That sweet, little girl of yours needs you to show some initiative on this, for once in your life."

"But where are we gonna keep the parts? I can't run out of here with my hands full of some grandma's pancreas."

The old man shrugged his shoulder, causing the duffel bag to shift slightly. "And that's why I brought enough ice packs to keep them cold til' we make it back to the rental. Stop being such a - what does your generation call it? – puppy."

"You mean 'pussy'."

"That's what I said."

Trey raised an eyebrow at the old man's tenacity. If only he could show half that kind of focus to remember to take a piss with the seat up.

"I need an answer, boy. What's it gonna be? Do what you have to do for your family," the elder motioned toward the foreboding steel doors, "or go home, keep drinking PBR on my couch, and bitch like a little girl about the economy and Obama? You going to keep waiting for a chance that everybody else and their grandma is waitin' on?"

"I've been taking classes at community college in short film making. Music videos are really hot right now. And, the professor likes my vision. Says I've got real talent."

"She's from L.A. Everyone is talented or can see talent if they come from that cesspool. Why do you think Vancouver is becoming the new favorite for the film industry? Because the Canadians are still pure and untainted."

"That doesn't even make sense, man."

The elder hobbled forward on weak legs to stick a bony finger in the young man's face. "Trey, you can't be an artist when the bills need to get paid. What's it gonna be?"

With a sigh, Trey shrugged. "Whatever."

"What's with your generation and half-ass replies? Yes or no, two options and you still pick a third…" He scratched his ass unceremoniously before lifting to open the large wooden doors. "Remember, kid, you want to look at the dates before you start popping open the crypts. As recent as possible. We've got enough ice in here to take two, maybe three pounds before the security guy comes by to make his rounds. My guy said they just put a couple of folks in here yesterday evening so look for those first."

"You gonna help with the cutting or am I stuck doing everything?"

"How could I?" He shook his weak, flabby arms in Trey's jaded face. "I'm _infirmed_. And, besides, you need to put in the time to get the rewards. With my free expertise, you should be happy."

Trey made a small sound of annoyance, more interested in getting the sick job over and done with. He pushed aside the older man to open the doors leading into the mausoleum's inner sanctum. With a grunt and far more effort than he thought should have be necessary, the steel and marble doors released their reluctant hold to keep the outside world out. Despite the well-worn cliché, the doors opened without a creak of protest, silently allowing the heavy fog to crawl into the climate-controlled death house.

"Hey, old man, what's that?" Trey pointed at an unfamiliar mass of darkness lying prone on a large table positioned in the middle of the floor, under a sky light illuminating their actions.

"What are you talking about?" The elder said irritably, pushing the taller man out of the way before walking into the empty hallway lined with plaques marking the dead entombed. As quickly as he pushed Trey aside, however, the older man half-ran/hobbled back out from the dark abyss of the corridor. The mass continued to wait ominously, dead to the world.

"We need to go, Trey. Right now."

Trey frowned. "Why? What's that thing in there? A security alarm? Man…I told you they'd lock this kind of shit up. If you've got the kinda of money to be putting your dad in this type of thing, you've obviously got the money to be springing on something basic like twenty-four hour surveillance."

"Shut-up, boy! If we get caught with that thing in their people are gonna think we did it."

"Did what?" Trey said loudly before lowering his voice. "You ain't tellin' me nothin', man. What's in there?"

The old man sighed before moving to close the heavy doors. "A dead body."

A second of silence passes as the two men try to close the heavy doors together. After much effort the doors reluctantly close.

"Dude, it's a mausoleum. There's gonna be dead bodies, obviously."

"Not like that though. That dead body was just sitting out. The cemetery's sexton wouldn't stand for it. That shouldn't have been there."

As the two men turned around, a bright cone of light shone in their direction. The cone traveled slowly in the dense fog with the difficulty of recognizing large objects but, after a brief second of hesitation, the cone accelerated toward the shocked men.

"Hey, what are you two doing in here? Don't move!"

Trey quickly put his hands up in the air and the older man reluctantly followed suit. His eyes shot angry daggers into the man's bald head.

"I hope some of that social security is gonna pay for our bail, grandpa."

"Shut-up. Just…shut-up and let me handle this," the old man muttered miserably.


	2. Chapter 1

\- Chapter 1 -

In ten minutes, the world would shatter. Again.

Jane Rizzoli knew the explosion was coming instinctively. Her body knew the time of its arrival like fan-girls knew the show runner down to the caterer of their favorite television shows. It always started with the random twitch of her feet in her sleep until the signal slowly rose up to her sleep-addled brain, alerting the detective to the end of the world as she knew it. There was no use fighting it. It was inevitable; he was inevitable. The blow-up would present itself at the same time, every time, much like USPS. The child was not inconsistent.

Next to her, bravely feigning sleep, Maura Isles shifted in the thick bed covers by clutching her wife's lean body even firmer, if that was even possible. Maura was always clingy in the privacy of their bedroom, stemming from her childhood lack of adequate physical contact from loved ones. Jane giggled at her wife's obvious attempt to ignore the explosion that would come in their foreseeable future.

"Don't laugh," Maura whispered against her lover's warm neck. "He can hear everything, you know."

"It's a Rizzoli trait, nosiness."

"Well, I know that now, living with the Duke of Nosiness himself."

Jane smiled, trying to keep her eyes closed. "Should have used you, honey. I mean, he got my looks, but he also got all of the mental instability that those benefits bring. Frost's DNA did not offset those underlying problems."

"Really."

"Really. The Rizzoli clan is just too fucking inbred for him to have any real impact in subduing the Rizzoli crazy gene. This pain and misery could have been avoided."

"Well, it's a good thing I like a little crazy since I'm married to the craziest of the clan. Gives me a lot of experience in dealing with the Rizzoli crazy gene." The playful game of witty banter over, a small sound of playful annoyance signaled Maura's eye roll before the blonde rolled to her back, throwing her hands over her eyes in exhaustion. Jane shook her head at the rare display of frustration, knowing they had only a short time of blissful intimacy left before all hell broke loose.

"Maybe he won't do it this morning?" Maura groaned.

They went through this "will-he-won't-he" game every morning since their son, Bart, had turned eight months. Like a hurricane, the little guy would break out in a screaming fit every morning (at exactly 7:00 am, regardless of holidays or his mothers' lack of sleep) and alert the house, the neighbors, and sometimes even the guy opening up the Boston Joe's down the street that sleep time was over for another fourteen hours. The little guy seemed to take a sick pleasure out of seeing his mothers stumble into his room with blank stares in response to his bursts of pique.

At first, Jane and Maura had justified Bart's behavior with legitimate excuses – _he's just a baby; hell, we did the same thing when we were his age…I guess; it's a growing stage of independence that is necessary for proper child development_ – but after the first thirty days of waking up at the crack of dawn and getting passive-aggressive letters and phone calls from anyone and everyone who lived within two blocks of their house, the justifications were getting increasingly more argumentative and acquiescent – _hey, don't look at us, he's just damn happy to be waking up, you'd be too if you weren't such an asshole about a little bit of noise; maybe if you stop listening to him, he'll stop waking everyone up, so think positive, bitch; you're the only one who has a problem with it because you've never experienced the seemingly never-ending pain of children, so how about having a kid and getting back to me at a later date_.

Maura was legitimately concerned that they were going to be forced to move if complaints continued, but Jane was increasingly less perturbed. The house was paid for in full and had been for a while. Constance had bought it for her daughter as a medical school graduation gift so she wouldn't have to worry about living arrangements when and if she decided to come back to Boston. Following her stint in Africa working with Doctors without Borders, Maura had been glad to have the townhouse available while she worked at the morgue as a temporary addition. She had decided to stay and, therefore, remained entrenched in the Beacon Hill townhouse throughout the years. The neighbors could bitch all they wanted, but Jane and Maura weren't leaving unless _they_ decided to. Simple as that.

Jane yawned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching out the muscle aches of sleep. "Ten seconds til' show time. You really want to make that bet, Maura?"

"I studied game theory as it applies to biology in college."

"And I have no idea what game theory is or how it applies to biology."

"So, no, I will not make that bet."

"Good for you, sweetheart," Jane half-smiled as she rummaged around for a shirt that didn't already show the signs of childcare on it in the form of stains that were unexplainable or rips that weren't there last time she had worn it. "Five seconds left on the clock. Any last comments to make to your wife before St. Terror wakes up?"

"Will this ever end?"

Jane shrugged, closing her eyes in wait. "Somewhere around his eighteenth birthday and us packing him away to begin his life as an adult."

Before Maura could reply to Jane's typical smartass comment, the squealing sound of Bart's voice began to echo around the house. The waves of sound bounced off the walls, broke through the flimsy physical barriers keeping them contained, and summarily hit the ears of numerous neighbors who were probably also waiting for the explosion to come from the Isles-Rizzoli home. If Jane listened hard enough, she was sure she could hear the mutual sigh of frustration released by everyone in the vicinity of Bart's banshee scream.

"I wonder if I screamed back at him, do you think he would scream back?"

Maura shook her head as she began their morning ritual. "Please don't. Enough screaming for one morning. Can you get him ready? I've got to be at the morgue early today. Back-up you wouldn't believe. You're scheduled to come in around twelve again, right?"

Jane nodded, looking for her watch on the bedside table cluttered with all kinds of nonsensical items associated with her profession as a homicide detective. The badge, watch, empty holster – gun kept downstairs, in the safe, Maura's idea. Her golden badge fell unceremoniously to the floor just as she picked up the plain watch that had graced her wrist for umpteen years. She cursed in response, the early morning scream and the reminder of her work schedule at Boston Police Department causing a sudden wave of anger to rise unexpectedly.

Noticing her mood, Maura rose up from the bed with a worried expression. "You sure?"

"About what?"

"Korsak's promotion to lieutenant is made official today. He's not going to be in Homicide anymore. You'll be the acting sergeant instead of playing second-fiddle like you have been since the honeymoon."

Jane turned to face her concerned wife just as Bart's wails subsided into self-amused giggles that carried down the hallway.

"Maura, newsflash, I've been a sergeant for a while now. Remember, we celebrated with sex and everything. Was my performance really that bad that you forgot?"

"No, I know that, but I mean now Cavanaugh is going to be relying on you. That's a lot of pressure and authority for a woman who's not accustomed to the demands of power." Maura raised an eyebrow, silently questioning Jane's confident demeanor. "Can you handle this?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "Well, I guess we'll see, won't we? Now, you gonna let me focus on getting St. Terrible cleaned up and presentable for his date with the nanny?"

"Jane…"

"Maura, please."

Maura made a face of confusion. "Please what, Jane?"

"Let's just tackle one thing at a time. Bart's needs come first then work, okay?"


	3. Chapter 2

\- Chapter 2 -

"Are you sure you're okay with Korsak's promotion to lieutenant, Jane? Because, if I were you, I'd be very uncomfortable with this new arrangement. Change can be overwhelming, especially when issues regarding power and authority are placed in the situation."

Jane sighed in exhaustion. From taking Bart from his crib, washing him up, and picking out an outfit from his color organized closet full of little baby thingies, she had had to deal with her wife's needling over her new position of authority at work. Talking about the issue held no meaning to her. Things change, so what? If it had been up to her, yeah, she would have had Korsak stay with Homicide but her former partner had been itching for a move for the longest. With his promotion to Lieutenant, it made no sense for him to continue sitting around when another unit could benefit from his leadership experience and expertise.

"Maura," Jane began, her attention focused on Bart's high energy efforts to escape from his high chair, "I'm _fine_. I've had three months to get used to this. He told us before the honeymoon that he was planning on making a big move if he got promoted so it's not a shocker."

"Shock or not, it's still a lot to process."

Shifting her weight to her other leg, Jane shrugged. With the familiar weight of the badge and gun on her hips, the concerns of her new role dissipated in the safety of being firmly entrenched in her identity as a homicide detective. Being a cop was all she had ever known, all she had ever wanted to be. Whether her title or responsibilities had changed, Jane knew that she would be able to handle whatever came her way at BPD. She always did somehow, no matter how stressful things could, or frequently did, get.

With a smile, Jane shifted her focus to their overeager son trying desperately to remove himself from the harness that wrapped around him, keeping him in his high chair. The damn thing hadn't even come with a harness but after the first incident – Bart had managed to figure out if he rocked the chair back and forth, the rickety thing would fall and he could get a "get out of jail" free card – Maura had called in some favors to figure out a safe but workable alternative. How the child could be so smart was beyond her intellectual capabilities. Bart certainly didn't get it from her. In all honesty, the only thing Bart got from his dark-haired mother was overabundance. From the big personality to his even bigger head of untamable curls that made him look like Jimi Hendrix's long lost son, Bart was completely her son…on the surface, at least. Go a little deeper and their son revealed himself to be more like Maura than Jane cared to admit. Despite his crazy and somewhat reckless personality, Bart had a kind soul and was honest to a fault, just like Maura. It only made sense given he had spent nine months listening to Maura, well, _be_.

Noticing his mother's look of amusement directed at him, Bart turned to give Jane a toothless smile before returning his focus to his other mother as she stirred some oatmeal in a brightly colored bowl, perfectly scaled down for Bart's little hands. Bart released a squeal of delight, his hands following suit with a playful pitter-patter on the table of his high chair, as Maura began to walk over to their son.

"Well, since you don't want to talk about work…" Maura gave her son a disapproving frown as he tried to rush her in delivering the spoonful of oatmeal to his gaping mouth. "Frost called."

"Was it about him taking Bart for the weekend? He said something about it at work…I think? This last week has been a blur," Jane said, taking a banana from the kitchen island. With quick movements, she began stripping the yellow fruit from its skin before dousing it in green hot sauce.

"Jane, is that really your breakfast?"

"I'm hungry and I know, nine times out of ten, I'm gonna get called out to a murder of some kind."

"Which means?"

"_Which means_ I don't have time to eat a proper Continental breakfast. Murders always spike during the weekend which means live people find dead people on Monday. Today is Monday. Put two and two together, honey."

Maura rolled her eyes, dramatically. "Yes, I get that, but remember when we said we were going to set _good examples_ for our impressionable son? Eating a banana covered in hot sauce is not really what I had in mind."

"But I got Tabasco instead of that stuff I used to get. What was it called? Oh yeah, Uncle Guido's Piccante…now that was some good shi-stuff. There was an old warning they used to put on the bottle that it was guaranteed to make a grown man piss his pants it was so hot. Of course, Tommy had to be the dumbass that decided to test that warning."

Bart began to laugh at his mother's crazy expressions as she described Tommy's reaction upon taking a shot of the sauce. Jane's face lit up upon the discussion of her family, prompting Maura and their son to join in the happy mood. Maura clearly disapproved of her wife's colorful language in front of their impressionable son but there was no denying Jane anything, especially when she began telling a story about her family.

The familiar sound of their cell phones ringing on the counter interrupted the family moment between the two women and their son. Both of their eyes reflected a similar measure of frustration and disgust at having been interrupted by work but the feelings were quickly replaced with equal measures of understanding and excitement. They both knew that solving murders was their livelihood. Doing anything else, including being full-time moms, would have been anathema. Despite knowing they were missing out on some elements of Bart's development, both women took a level of pride in making the streets of Boston safer for their son and everyone else who called the metropolis their home.

Both Jane and Maura picked up their phones and delivered their standard brusque message to dispatch while Bart watched silently, sucking happily at the spoon full of oatmeal as a glop of the gooey substance began to drop from his mop of curls onto the table of the high chair. After hearing the necessary details, both women turned automatically to look at the clock.

"Shit, the nanny isn't scheduled to come until another hour," Jane said, turning to meet Bart's mischievous eyes. "What are we gonna do with you, St. Terrible? Can't leave you here by yourself, that's for sure. God knows we'd find you hanging from the ceiling fans, drinking a beer."

Maura playfully punched Jane in the scar tissue. "Not funny, Jane. Babies are more susceptible to alcohol poisoning than adults."

"Odd how you picked the beer thing out of that sentence but not the hanging from the ceiling fan. Explains where your priorities are."

"_The point is_, what are we going to do about Bart?"

"What we always do when we have an early rollout." Jane quickly dialed a number in her cell, raising the device up to her ear. "We call the one woman in the world who never has anything to do, is always up in our business like she doesn't have two other children to meddle with, and obsesses over Bart like he's the second coming: my mother."


	4. Chapter 3

\- Chapter 3 -

_This is going to be a long day_, Maura told herself miserably as Jane drove up to the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. A quick flash of Jane's badge and Maura's laminated medical examiner's card to the bored rookie tasked with keeping the growing waves of reporters working the beat and they were soon rolling through the entrance. An elaborate maze of roads extended outward from the main road, all carefully maintained. It wasn't as if they could have gotten lost amongst the various pathways and byways in the large complex; all Jane had to do was follow the yellow tape and meandering detectives and crime scene techs who had decided to park to make the short walk up to the nexus of the action: a squat, ornately designed mausoleum placed adjacent to the busy access road full of mid-morning traffic.

Leaving Bart was still so incredibly difficult. Even though Angela was the perfect definition of what a grandmother was supposed to be, hearing her son's rambling voice get smaller, smaller, smaller until the door closed upon him made Maura's heart race and her palms sweat. Bart was a helpless, little baby. He couldn't even talk, nonetheless take care of himself. He needed his mother and what was she doing? Leaving him just like her own mother used to do whenever she had to go to an art exhibition or teach her students. The only time Constance brought her anywhere was whenever it had been convenient for her adoptive mother to do so. Leaving Bart during these early callouts felt like a return to those old memories of feeling abandoned as a child, made even worse when she recalled how much she had pushed to have a child with Jane to right those wrongs. Bart seemed perfectly unaware of the separation anxiety brewing inside of his mother, however. With his usual exuberance, the little boy had waved bye-bye to his two mothers before babbling like a brook to Angela's eager ears.

Maura turned in the passenger seat of Jane's squad car, immediately noticing the fine lines of tension that had been building subconsciously since they had left. To the casual observer, Jane was perfectly fine, readying herself for another day at a gruesome crime scene but Maura could see the emotions she was trying so hard to keep in check. Frustration, disgust, and even a touch of fear were all playing themselves out with each tight clench of her jaw as she parked near the well-tended path leading up to the open doors of the mausoleum.

"Hey," Maura whispered, placing her hand on Jane's as she moved to exit the vehicle.

"What?" Jane asked, brusquely, unaware how aggressive her tone sounded. Realizing the slight slip in her mask, she shook her head and exhaled deeply before returning her gaze to her wife. "I'm sorry. What's up, honey?"

Maura beamed, knowing exactly what to say to get Jane to relax somewhat. "I love you."

And, with three simple words, Maura watched her tough-as-nails detective melt into the woman behind the mask, the woman that she had fell in love with nearly half a decade ago. Jane never liked to reveal that she had a functioning heart underneath the pantsuit and masculine aura she gave off without even thinking. According to her, it would ruin the façade she had spent so long trying to create in order to do what she does on a daily basis. _I'd rather be feared than thought kindly of_, Jane had confessed to her back when they were still in the dating phase of their relationship. Everyday Maura watched her lover become this other woman that she had grown to appreciate as a piece of Jane Rizzoli, the woman, but she secretly enjoyed knowing that she could flip the switch on her wife with just a simple phrase that always managed to shock Jane as if it was the first time she had had the privilege to hear them come from Maura's lips.

"I love you, too," Jane replied, smiling. "Did I do something right to deserve that?"

"Just wanted to remind you that you have someone in your corner before you tackle," Maura tilted her head toward the group of detectives obviously waiting outside of the mausoleum for Jane and Maura to get out of the car and start the investigation, "them, _your _squad. You ready?"

"No, not really. But thanks for asking. Just saying the words to someone that isn't gonna judge me makes it a little easier to process."

With a don't worry smile, Jane breathed in deeply before opening the car door. Maura followed suit and the two headed up to the bustling mausoleum. Just as Jane shifted into her work persona, Maura also shifted her focus to the body she would be investigating to help the team find the murderer. Mentally registering two men – one older, the other younger – being held in custody by a security guard being questioned by the newest detective in the homicide unit and Jane's middle brother, Frankie Rizzoli, Maura turned her attention to Det. Frost who stood near the entrance with Det. Riley Cooper, another recent recruit into Homicide. Frost smiled warmly and Riley nodded absentmindedly to the medical examiner.

Jane cleared her throat. "What do we got?"

Frost and Riley looked awkwardly at each other, unsure of what to say to Jane's request.

"Are we tongue-tied today?"

"Well," Frost began, "we don't know because you just got here. The first detective to respond to a high-profile homicide investigation has to be the lead sergeant for the unit and…well, that's you, starting today."

In the flash of a second, Jane's face went from confusion, anger, and then to resignation as her new role and the responsibilities that came with it began to rear its ugly head. No longer could Jane hide behind the familiar father-figure that Korsak had become ever since she had been assigned to the older detective too many years ago. Jane had risen to sergeant before their wedding several months before Korsak's departure but she was still being groomed for the position via tests, dog-and-pony shows to the public, and guidance from both Cavanaugh and her former partner. Now, for the first time, Jane was forced to rise to the occasion, whether she was ready to or not. Maura's heart began to race in sympathy. _She'll do fine,_ Maura told herself in a mantra. _She is Jane Rizzoli, after all._

"Then let's get in there," Jane said, radiating self-confidence. With her leading the way, Maura and company marched into the mausoleum's inner depths, lit by the crime scene techs' facilitative placement of flood lights. The bright beams centered on a small table where the charred remains of a skeleton were posed for display. When the detectives stopped near the perimeter of the lit circle, Maura continued forward, her mind excitedly focusing on the task placed before her.

As Maura began her preliminary walk-through of the body, Jane looked around. "Where's the first responding officer to the scene? He still around?"

Riley nodded to someone off in the distance and a middle-aged officer dressed in ill-fitting blues strolled forward. The man with the id tag of Willis displayed proudly on his chest yawned as if he hadn't slept in decades, a large Big Gulp of steaming coffee in one hand.

"Sgt. Rizzoli," Willis began, lifting a spare hand in greeting, "I was first responding officer to the scene. Name's Matt Willis, everyone calls me Willis. I was on patrol with a rook who needed some night watch time. This area's pretty quiet early in the morning so I figured it'd be a good spot to let the kid stretch his legs a little. Around five in the morning, a couple of hours into our shift, we get a call from dispatch saying a 211 and 63 was reported at the cemetery in the area."

"What's a 211 and 63?" Maura frowned, looking up from the body.

"Burglary and criminal trespass, Dr. Isles," Frost stated, simply.

"I thought it would be a good teaching experience for the rook until I called to clarify and dispatch added the potential of a 30 – sorry, ma'am, it's a habit, a homicide, as well. We put on the sirens and rushed here to find those two," Willis motioned toward the two men standing near the harried security guard berating Frankie for something or other as Frankie struggled to calm the man, "taken into custody for the burglary and criminal trespass but the body was still in here. The rookie stayed outside while I checked the body in question to make sure it was an actual body and then I came back out to call you guys."

Jane opened her mouth to begin asking the responding officer questions but quickly shifted to signal Riley to handle the interview. Supervising was still new to the freshly minted sergeant used to taking the lead.

Riley took out a small notepad as Jane observed, her fingers twitching with the need to actively investigate instead of supervise. "Did you perform a preliminary interview with the suspected burglars?"

Willis scoffed. "Tried, ma'am. The security guard was having a hernia about losing his job and never having an incident like this on his so-called spotless record and the burglars look more like homeless who figured they'd found a quiet place to stay warm for the night."

"That's baseless conjecture, by the way," Maura said, just loud enough for Jane to hear, bringing a Mona Lisa smile to her wife's face.

"Riley, go help Frankie finish up whatever he's attempting to do over there."

"Maybe you should tell Frost to do that," Riley said, slightly panicked.

Lowering her eyebrows, Jane crossed her arms across her chest. "Something you want to share with me, Riley? About you and Frankie?"

Maura watched the exchange with a smirk. Ever since the undercover operation, six months ago, the two junior detectives had gotten progressively closer. She had even been pretty sure the two had been dating when they had come to the wedding. Frankie had tried to convince everyone that taking Riley was nothing more than a simple combination of luck and opportunity: she had wanted to go and Jane had told him he was free to bring a plus one, so naturally Riley was an obvious choice. The suspicion reached a fever pitch given Riley's obvious refusal to talk about the entire situation, more interested in getting a new tattoo in a Grecian style to mark her first time in Santorini. Regardless of the couple's efforts to keep things low-key, by the time the family had come back from their honeymoon, the tentative couple had gained a teasing nickname: Super-Size Friley. The way the two blushed whenever the issue of their relationship came up, it was obvious that they were duly embarrassed. Maura understood the embarrassment. She could recall numerous incidents in which talking about her relationship with Jane caused both her and Jane a similar amount angst in their early dating stages.

Following the unit policy of making fun of any detectives brave enough to get together while working together in Homicide, Jane poked fun at the two whenever the opportunity presented itself. She'd even taken to calling them by their nickname whenever the two worked cases together. Regardless of the teasing, Jane never threatened to split the two up despite precedent giving her the ammo to do so. The department's somewhat vague rule concerning fraternization between two detectives placed the issue up to the individual in determining whether the relationship warranted a hard approach. Dating the medical examiner had colored Jane's opinion on the matter, but on a strictly case by case basis. As long as they kept things professional at work and didn't let their personal activities in and out of the bedroom interfere with the job, the relationship could continue unabated.

"No," Riley said, vigorously shaking her head. "No problem. I just…don't think it would be wise to have two recent additions handle an interview as important as this one given the impact it could potentially have on the case."

Jane released a loud laugh. "Nice save."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"But I still want you on interview duty. Working with difficult individuals is your strong suit, after all. Pour on the charm."

Riley sighed heavily, trudging reluctantly over to the crazed security guard that was now slumped into the fetal position near the wall of the mausoleum, crying heavily about being fired as soon as his boss heard about what had happened while he had been on duty. Jane moved next to Maura after motioning to Frost to join them.

"You know, given the state of this corpse, I don't think you're gonna be able to give me much other than: a) he/she is dead and b) he/she was burned."

Maura smiled. Jane always had a habit of pushing for information from her before she could make definitive statements, knowing it got on her nerves. It was a game they played during every investigation. Jane would push and push and push for more information while Maura would flit away using her love of deductive reasoning to justify her inability to give the detective anything other than a loose outline of the facts as they were presented. Maura wondered if maybe Jane got off on being rejected by the one woman who could consistently do so on a daily basis.

"I can't even say that's true until I do a detailed analysis back in my lab, however, if you give me a minute to work my magic, I might be able to reveal some information that will be useful in guiding your investigation until I can complete the autopsy."

"Will do," Jane said, turning her attention to her former partner as he struggled to quickly wipe a thick layer of petroleum jelly over his nose to block the smell of the burnt flesh wafting up from the body. "You know where Korsak ended up?"

Frost frowned. "He didn't tell you?"

"No…I guess he didn't."

"Are you sure? You are taking his spot as lead sergeant in Homicide, after all."

Jane ran her hand through her curls, a trait signaling her annoyance. "He's been avoiding me, like he can't bear looking at me, like he's guilty or something. Normally I'd go and talk to him but with everything that's been going on, I don't even have time to think, nonetheless play detective in my own life."

"Then maybe he should tell you then, instead of me."

"Frost…"

"Fine, fine," Frost said. "Last time I checked he was working as a special liaison with Internal Affairs that might get rolled over to a full time gig _if _he chooses to accept the offer."

Jane frowned. "But why wouldn't he accept? IAB is a nice appointment, certainly not as intensive as homicide. Even though not in their little club thinks of them as rats in expensive suits. Korsak should be glad, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe that's why _you_ should talk to him instead of hearing it second-hand from me. Stop being so emotionally evasive. God knows we've seen it doesn't work," Frost nudged Maura in the back, causing her to look up from examining the body with a knowing smile, "or do you need me or Maura to bring up every moment you screwed up your relationship because of your inability to properly connect with those around you?"

"Real funny, guys. We can't all be perfect," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "What did you figure out about the body, Maura?"

Maura felt the mood shift back to the job at hand and she quickly followed suit. A casual finger pointed at several distinctive fractures in several of the charred bones on the table. Each fracture was deep into the bone, curved grooves emanating slightly from the main break. Despite the vomit-inducing odor of burnt flesh, both Jane and Frost leaned forward to follow Maura's hand as it pointed out the distinctive patterns fractures in the bones.

"Are those…chainsaw marks?"

Maura raised an eyebrow. "I can't _definitively_ say that line of reasoning is legitimate. But I _can_ definitively say that someone or something with a lot of force carved into our Doe here. These fractures could not have been made without real effort. And, before you say it, that was not an assumption, Jane. I was simply stating a fact established via my many years as forensic pathologist."

"I assumed as such." Jane turned to Frost with a mischievous smile. "Frost, can you put a BOLO out on the Incredible Hulk or maybe She-Hulk, if she was in town?"

"What about Iron-Man? Or the X-Men? I'm pretty sure Colossus did this. This looks like his M.O."

"I'm glad you have time to laugh it up with your subordinates, Sgt. Rizzoli. Are you even aware how bad this looks to the community, to the press?"

Maura, Jane, and Frost both looked around to face the unexpected voice that had snuck up behind them. The unfamiliar form of a middle-aged man wearing an expensive but well-worn suit returned their gaze. His disapproval was revealed in the tight clenching of his facial muscles and the stress ball twirling in one scarred hand as he gazed upon the three with a look of icy disdain. Despite his diminutive height, the man stood before them with a level of relaxed confidence that could only come from being the center of attention for so long that it becomes second-nature.

"Can I help you?" Jane said, immediately regaining her position of authority. "This is a closed crime scene, sir. I'm really going to have to ask you to leave."

"You…you don't remember me, Sergeant? Really? You were practically crying at my feet when we met."

Jane shook her head in confusion, causing the mysterious man to frown heavily.

"Capt. Ashley Day. You know, the same guy who was at the public medal ceremony in which you were promoted officially to Sergeant. Two months ago. I supervise BPD, the entire department. So that means I'm your boss's boss, the head honcho." Day extended his hand coldly to Jane. "I really hope that rings a bell."

Maura saw Jane's reaction as she struggled to quickly go through her training manual in her head to determine how to handle an interaction of this magnitude. After a brief second of confusion, she gave up, accepting her training didn't prepare her for a meeting with _the _Capt. Ashley Day of the Boston Police Department. Jane awkwardly extended a hand to the short statured man. Day took the offered hand as if it was nothing more than a dollar given to a five-year-old used to iPads, Wi-Fi, and credit cards. It held little meaning to him. The handshake was a required nicety; nothing more, nothing less.

"Walk with me, Sergeant," Day said, leaving little room for debate. "Reassure me that I made the right choice in promoting you to Sergeant by telling me where you are with this case."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Maura shook her head with a frown. When Capt. Ashley Day chose to get involved in a case, nothing good would come of it. The last case he had taken a personal interest in had resulted in the largest divisional realignment in decades. Everyone, from the lieutenant to the lead detective on the case, had been reassigned or demoted. The whole incident was legend in BPD given that Day was seen as a demi-god to nearly every cop on the force and the unit that had been upended was one of the most high-profile and feared in Massachusetts: Internal Affairs. Jane would never admit it, but the captain was one of the driving reasons she had decided to pursue being a Homicide detective. Maura hoped Jane wouldn't let her childhood crush get in the way of common sense. _This can't possibly end well._


	5. Chapter 4

\- Chapter 4 -

"I need to know you have this under control, Sergeant."

Jane nodded, her mind unable to keep up with the words coming from Day's mouth. The last time she had been around the captain, she had turned into a walking pile of girlish glee. Day was a walking legend, notorious for his ability to rally community support during big cases which always lead to big arrests. The public loved him almost as much as the detectives at BPD did. Stupidly, she had snubbed him by not remembering his face – the guy was a star, specific features became faded in all the glory his fame brought – but Jane straightened her spine to show the icon that she could be trusted to treat her first case as a sergeant with the respect that it deserved. _You represent the community and the community deserves to know you're putting a hundred percent of yourself into your cases, _the captain said during her graduation ceremony at the police academy. Day was her idol, she had a responsibility to live up to the expectations he had set for all detectives that came after him. He did set the bar, after all.

"Sergeant, with all your nodding, I'm starting to feel like this is all going over your head. This isn't the time to daydream."

Jane started to nod for what had to be the fiftieth time but thought better of it. She really wasn't listening as well as she probably should be, given the seriousness of the situation. The feeling of basking in the glory of Capt. Ashley Fucking Day was like being hooked up to an IV of serotonin. The world around her blurred into a hazy vision of shapes and colors defined by the buzzing sensation generated within her body, nothing else mattered. By having Day so close to her proximity, Jane felt like the same little girl that was so ashamed by her ugly duckling looks and inability to fit in with the girls or guys in her class that she would lash out in a rebellion against the nuns, school, and even other kids.

Jane's younger years had been difficult because she had always refused to follow simple niceties. It was like the other kids had a manual to being normal that her mother had forgotten to pick up before leaving the hospital. Fitting in was next to impossible, yet following her own path seemed like the scariest thing in the world to do. She had been eight, after all. It sucked to feel lost even within her crazy Italian family. Playing any and every sport imaginable – Jane had been the wrestling team's secret weapon given her squirrelly nature and flexibility – worked in managing the feeling for a couple of years. It wasn't until she had made the decision to attend a mandatory Career Day thingie at school instead of attempting another round of smoking behind the wall-ball courts that a real direction began to present itself. Just as she had been ready to bail from the auditorium in annoyance after watching yet another nurse reaffirm gender stereotypes by telling all the lil' women out there that they could help birth babies into the world if they chose nursing as a career path, a short man strode over to the microphone, adjusted it to his height, and gave the audience of preteens a look that commanded all childish discussion to cease immediately. On his hip, a gun twinkled in the florescent light of the stage, signifying him as a cop. He wasn't dressed in the outfit normally associated with cops, however, as his plain blue suit rustled slightly, the sound reverberating loudly around the silent auditorium. _And here's another police officer for all the guys_, Jane remembered thinking, waiting for him to say something as she played with a couple tendrils of loose curls that had broken free from her messy ponytail placed precariously on the top of her head.

"Not that many of you can do what I do," the police officer dressed in the funny clothes said, simply. "I'm looking at maybe two or three faces that _might _be able to be a detective."

The usual smartass in every group of preteens screamed out, "Yeah, right!"

"Who said that?"

The dumbass raised his hand proudly, bringing a round of giggles as everyone recognized who the child was. Several of the teachers just managed to stop drooling over the small detective on stage to shake in disapproval at the offending child. With a sinister smile, the detective beckoned the young boy to come up stage. Recognizing an opportunity to reaffirm his class clown status to the rest of the school, the boy ran up to the stage with a stupid ass grin on his face.

"How about we introduce ourselves, first." The detective extended a pale hand toward the boy who was nearly taller than him. "Homicide Detective, Second Grade Ashley Day. And you are?"

The small boy laughed heartily, doubling over. "Ashley! You're a like a girl trying to be a guy. You and that crazy girl, Jane Rizzoli, would get along since you're both trying to be something you're not."

Jane blushed uncomfortably as a couple of guys turned to laugh at her. The remaining students laughed loudly at the detective's feminine name. As the students continued to laugh at his expense, Day watched the boy with a bored expression. For just a brief second, he gazed out of the corner of his eye to make eye contact with the only girl not joining in the raucous display. His confident wink in her direction seemed to reassure Jane that he wouldn't back down to a troublemaker.

"You still haven't told me your name."

With a frown, the boy narrowed his eyes at the detective's cool demeanor. "What are you, dude? A robot?"

"No, I've experienced far more abuse from people a _lot_ bigger than you." Day narrowed his eyes and pushed the microphone to the side, hardly needed given the power of his voice. "Now, stop being rude and tell me what your name might be, child."

"Sean."

"Well, Sean, I can assure you that being a detective is as difficult as I say it is. Do you know why it is so difficult?"

The emotionless voice of the detective hardly changed in tone as he stared down the boy with his dark eyes that refused to let him get a break. On the edge of her seat, Jane watched, absolutely riveted by the authority the man commanded from everyone. Even though he was short and had a girl's name, the detective wasn't backing down. He even seemed to revel in the power he wielded on the stage to bring the crowd to a standstill.

"A detective has to see him/herself as a representative of the community. They have to want to protect those around them, not make fun of them because they're different." Day's eyes made contact with Jane's wide-open ones for a second time, smiling again as he watched her chew her hair anxiously. "All of you, including our little friend Sean, want to be rich, successful, important. Detectives are cut from a different cloth. Detectives like myself will never be those things. There is no 'I' in the mind of a detective, only 'we' and 'us'. The collective, the community always comes first. To find a person with the unique ability to put others first and their own personal needs and desires second… People like that are truly rare. And when you add in the physical requirements, it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

As Sean struggled to find his voice before the detective, Jane sat in her plastic seat. Her whole body hummed in a way that she had never felt before. The sensation wasn't uncomfortable but different. It wasn't until later in her life that she had realized that the moment was the first stirrings of a crush, her first crush. The man had to have been twice her age but to Jane's preteen mind that gave him a level of exoticness that all the other boys in her class lacked.

The rest of the career day went by in a blur. Jane remembered trying to fluff herself up – lining her lips in strawberry shortcake flavored Lipsmackers like all the girls did in the movies when they went to talk to guys they liked and taking her hair out of the messy ponytail since two guys and a girl had said she looked "cute" with her hair down – but all of the female teachers had been hogging his attention. Despite the attention, Day just smiled politely and stared at the clock like he was counting down the minutes till he could get back to his world of protecting the innocent from evil. Watching him from afar, Jane felt her heart race. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter. When she had walked her Tommy and Frankie home that afternoon, she had told the boys they could go to the playground alone as long as they didn't tell ma. Happily they had ran off while she had locked herself in her room and masturbated for the first time, unable to stop until the sound of her mother's car rolling into the driveway forced her into an erratic panic to sneak out and get her brothers from the playground before she got in trouble. As she ran full-speed to get the boys back from the playground before her ma realized the house was empty before dinner, Jane could remember the same thought had been racing through her head, stuck on repeat like a catchy pop song from a half-naked woman in her thirties trying to act as if she had really been touched for the first time: _I need to be a homicide detective, just like him._

Looking back over the years when she had been a rare introspective mood, Jane wondered why she had gotten so excited seeing Detective Ashley Day. Was it the connection she felt to him when he looked at her with those dark eyes? Or was it the idea of being with other people that wouldn't think she was weird because she was strong and wanted to make things better instead of simply fitting in like everyone else? Hell, maybe it was the passion of the first teenage crush. Regardless, after the first time Jane had experienced the joy of masturbating, womanhood came quickly behind. Somewhat late to the party, her menstrual cycle knocked on the door soon after her sexual awakening. And with that came breasts – miniscule as they might be – and some real, honest to god attention from young men instead of the usual little boys that hung around trying to recruit her for flag football tournaments. Her ma had taken the moment as a sign that miracles truly do happen if you pray enough, warranting a celebration that was on par with the second coming of Jesus himself. _Thank god, she really _is _a girl_._ Now we can buy pink filigreed bras, sickly sweet deodorant, dresses weighed down by endless ruffles, and prepare her for the joy of childbirth and taking care of her domineering hubby._

Ashley Day had managed to penetrate her girlish existence all those years ago and now she was expected to work alongside him without going down memory lane. The Greek god of her childhood fantasies had descended from his Mt. Olympus of glory to mingle with the mortals who had spent years worshipping his existence. Seeing him before her twenty-six years later, now doing the same thing he had been to her as an impressionable child, it was quite simply the most fucked up thing she had the pleasure of experiencing, outside of having a child of her own.

"Now I know you're not listening to me, Sergeant."

Jane shook her head out of the mental cobwebs. "No, sir. I'm listening."

"Then what did I just say?"

"Uhh…murder is bad and something about the community?"

"Jane," Day said, sighing. "We need to get a hold of this murder before the community feels like we, and mainly _you_, aren't handling things seriously. With the tensions already present in this neighborhood regarding racial and class issues, things are already problematic. We, meaning _you_, need to take this seriously."

"Sir, I don't have this under control because I don't know what I have yet. We just started doing interviews with a couple of burglary and trespass suspects who wandered upon the body in the process of doing…something. I'll bring them to the station and after their booked we'll interrogate the two of them separately. Sir, Captain, investigations are a process, you know that."

"I don't like your tone, Sergeant. Do I have to remind you about rank?"

Jane messaged her temples. "No, you don't have to remind me about rank because my tone hasn't changed. Why are you even here, in the first place? There's like three journalists out there who have to be here because this neighborhood is part of their beat. Nobody knows anything yet."

"Rizzoli," Day began, quietly. "You'd be best to remember that you don't have the benefit of your former Sergeant to hide behind anymore. Before, when you mouthed off, he'd be there to take the fall but now…just watch what you say. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

Day took out a small piece of yellow line paper with a name written in delegate cursive on it. "The sexton of this graveyard would like to talk to you concerning this incident. He's waiting back at BPD. He expects the utmost curtesy so please don't throw him in an interrogation room, please."

"But I'm kinda busy with the investigation."

"Jane, you're a sergeant now."

"So I can't do my job?"

"Your _job_ is to supervise and handle the public and their perception of the Homicide division. Running around with the team can't happen anymore. You watch from afar, giving orders, while they work." Jane took the piece of paper with a sigh, still massaging her temples. "This is a transitional period for you, Sergeant. Making mistakes is normal during this difficult time. That's why I'm here, to keep you on track."

Jane nodded automatically. _I've disappointed him. Why do I even give a rat's ass why I've disappointed him?_

"Do you need me to sit in on the interview with the sexton?"

"What?" Jane asked, dreamily.

"The cemetery's supervisor. You want me to sit in?"

"I don't really know," Jane began weakly, unable to make eye contact. "If you think that's best then you probably should, I guess."

"Good, I'll meet you back at BPD. Fourth floor, by the way."

Jane watched the man walk away, her mind lost in thought. She felt sick to her stomach. The pleasurable haze that descended whenever she was around the Captain had transmuted itself into a form of passive aggression that she wasn't familiar with. All she wanted to do was hit something, show Ashley Fucking Day that she wasn't that same little weak girl chewing on her hair and waiting for change to come to her but wanting to show him that she wasn't that same girl anymore just made her more frustrated. She didn't need his approval or anyone else's for that matter. She was Jane "Badass" Rizzoli. Day probably didn't even remember her from all those years ago. She was obsessing over a man that she saw from a distance and, most importantly, Jane didn't even know why.

"We're going to take the body back to the crime lab," Maura said, causing Jane to jump in surprise. "I'll hitch a ride with the techies, if you don't mind. We're dealing with bones and it's easy for things like this to get damaged or contaminated with poor handling." Noticing her wife's blank stare, Maura placed an arm on the small of her back before turning Jane toward her. "What did he say to you?"

"What he said wasn't important. It's the fact that I just rolled over and let him say it that concerns me."


	6. Chapter 5

\- Chapter 5 -

Jane walked out of the metal box that took her up to the foreboding silence of the fourth floor of the Boston Police Department. It had been, what, a good couple of years since she had had the misfortune to have a legitimate reason to come up to the administrative floor of the division. Given the plywood/super-glue construction of the Homicide bullpen downstairs, she was always taken aback by how luxurious the fourth floor was in comparison to the po' boys below when the administration was always arguing for increased interdepartmental unity and cost-effectiveness. From the marble inlays to the freshly buffed floors, the floor reeked of a level of authority that Jane wasn't and hoped to never become familiar with. As she made her way down the hallway to the receptionist – how much money does BPD have to waste when they have _two _different receptionists on _two _different floors? – the ridiculous number of plaques, trophies, and memorabilia from all of the bigwig detectives who had solved big cases in Boston seemed to taunt her as they glinted in their clear, glass cases. Each step made her feel increasingly like the time she had gone to Cooperstown after winning the championship with her softball team in middle-school. The sense of reverence in the air as everyone mingled around the enshrined items of baseball lore in a hushed silence was similar to how she felt now, staring awkwardly at the receptionist before her.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm here to do an interview with a suspect for a case."

The receptionist frowned. "You're going to have to be a little bit more specific."

"He didn't tell you I was coming here?"

With a shocked sigh, the receptionist immediately moved to shuffle with several stacks of paper and memos. She found a small slip before looking back up at Jane's slightly confused face. "Sorry about that, ma'am. You must be Sgt. Rizzoli, the one Capt. Day told me to look out for when he came by earlier. He's in his office with the guest. It's the largest room on this floor, right down the hallway and then take a left."

"Is that your idea of directions?" Jane asked, slightly annoyed that a potential suspect was being referred to as a 'guest'.

The receptionist refused to be perturbed by Jane's tone. "You really can't miss it, Sergeant."

_Yeah, so says the guy who practically lives up in this country club_.

But instead of causing conflict, Jane nodded before following the vague directions given to find and get this idiotic showing of pomp and circumstance over and done with. She had been under the impression that Day's idea of "dealing with the public" would entail a sit-down meeting to pick the cemetery's supervisor over anyone and everyone who had access or a reason to get into the cemetery after dark. Apparently _solving the case_ had taken a backseat to being an ambassador of sorts to the community regarding all things dead people. This couldn't be what being a sergeant entailed, it just couldn't. Cavanaugh and Korsak had assured her when she had took the promotion as a result of her actions in the Oscar Grey case that nothing significant would change regarding her day-to-day responsibilities other than a little bit more paperwork and looking pretty during the occasional news conference. If that was the truth, why was she stuck on the fourth floor, knocking on a door to spend more valuable time with a man that made her uncomfortably comfortable?

"Come in, Sergeant," Day's familiar voice said, voice muffled from the heavy oak door.

With a large exhale, Jane opened the door. She barely managed to restrain the small squeak of shock that came from her throat upon seeing the captain's office. Facing the downtown streets of Boston, the office was more like an executive suite given the larger than normal size and extravagance. Unlike Jane's own desk, few personal items littered the space except for two framed photos of, presumably, Day and his similarly large family and Day, dressed to the nines, in front of a crowd about to cut the ribbon leading to a recently built mosque that Jane remembered passing each time she drove into work. Jane didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that her teenage crush and boss's boss was completely devoid of personality. The man was all about family and work, nothing else. How sad is that?

"Jane, how are you?" Day asked, rhetorically. "Have you had the pleasure to meet the cemetery's sexton, John Doe?"

Jane looked over at the seated man who was nervously keeping his hands warm, despite the fact that the air in the office was a perfect seventy-six degrees. With a jittery smile, he briefly made eye contact before resuming his focus to his moving hands, Buddy Holly glasses slipping slightly down his oily nose. _Play nice, play nice_, Jane chanted, reluctantly offering her hand in greeting.

"So…your parents must have a sense of humor, huh?"

John Doe looked up with teary eyes. "I don't know what you mean?"

"Well, uh…your name is John Doe and unknown bodies are called…" Jane saw Day's face shift imperceptibly to disdain, deflating her weak attempt at humor before it even got started. "I want to assure you that we're working tirelessly on determining the identity of the dead body found in your mausoleum, Mr. Doe."

"Well, thank you for that."

"And…that's all I can think of, Capt. Day. Anything else you'd care to add?" Jane said, throwing the ball back in his court since this was _his _dog-and-pony show, after all. Let him work his magic on this _Revenge of the Nerds _extra and see what he can squeeze out of him.

Day frowned. "Don't you think you should comfort him, Sergeant?"

"Isn't that what I just did?" Jane replied in a loud stage whisper.

"No," Day began, "you didn't. Tell him how the process is going regarding the investigation."

"Hell no, Ashley. I _told _you that we…my team haven't even started investigating yet because the body just got back to the morgue. If I was _down there_, I'd know how the investigation is proceeding. Can I go?"

Day rolled his eyes at Jane's rebellious display. "_This_ is your job."

"My job is investigating homicides, not sitting here with John Doe trying to comfort him that his mausoleum isn't gonna be wrecked by my detectives. This whole comfort the public thing is your scene."

"And it should be _your _scene, as well."

"Well, it isn't."

Still awkwardly playing with his hands, John Doe's eyes skittered back and forth between the two police officers. "I really don't need anyone to comfort me, really. The captain is the one who pushed for this interview in the first place."

"Because it is _vital_ that the community is kept in the loop regarding violent acts of crime, i.e. homicide."

"Is that all you know how to say?" Jane lowered her voice in a facsimile version of Day's voice. "Community, community, community. The community doesn't give a rat's ass what the cops are doing as long as they can get to Boston Joe's before seven a.m. and drive around the city without seeing dead bodies all over the road. Hell, knowing Bostonians they'd just drive over the bodies and continue honking for someone to make a turn on red."

Day looked over at John Doe with an icy stare. "You should go."

"No," Jane said, standing up. "I should go."

She walked stiffly toward the door, slipping out of the office as quickly as humanly possible. The adrenaline of telling of Day propelled her all the way to the elevator on a confident high. As soon as the doors closed, however, she could barely stand up. All she wanted to do was cry like a little girl and disappear. Her finger pushed the button that would lead her to the morgue.


	7. Chapter 6

\- Chapter 6 -

Downstairs, Maura sat in her office with her legs crossed underneath her walnut desk. Her head bobbed with a slow rhythm, eyes closing in response to the rapid-fire complaints coming across her cell. The nanny, Mrs. Cibowitz, had decided to inform Maura that Bart was still a terror that made all of the other children she had been a nanny for look tame in comparison. Jane never got to receive Mrs. Cibowitz's bi-hourly rant sessions given her supposed inability to tolerate bullshit. As a result, Maura had to endure the pain of Mrs. Cibowitz and her complaints regarding Bart. God knows she had other things she could have been doing regarding Jane's case but telling the nanny to stop whining and do her job wasn't conducive to creating and maintaining a civil working environment.

"Mrs. Cibowitz," Maura began, closing her eyes in exasperation, "you can't really think Bart needs to undergo an exorcism. He's not a devil, just spirited, is all."

In the background, a loud crash followed by an insane bout of baby babbling. Mrs. Cibowitz immediately released a heavy sigh in response to Bart's actions. Maura smiled in amusement as her mind painted a picture of the kind of havoc Bart was invoking on his nanny. Just like Jane, their son demanded attention from everyone who happened to be around him. With his attractive features and intelligence, the little guy usually managed to get it…unless one of his mothers reminded him that he wasn't the self-appointed king of the universe.

"A child without boundaries is a child bound to failure. The boy needs discipline and soon."

Maura frowned. "And he gets discipline. This is just Bart's way of having fun."

"Children shouldn't be having _fun_. They should be _learning_. This is why the Japanese beat us in all of the critical areas, because children are immersed in learning completely and absolutely, from day one."

"Educational attainment is difficult to quantify, Mrs. Cibowitz," Maura said, raising her eyes to notice Jane pounding down the hallway to her office. With the look on her wife's face, she could tell that the woman was this close to doing something she absolutely hated beyond belief: showing her inner feelings at work. Compartmentalizing was so important to Jane that she had even created a rule to deal with the potential risk of personal and professional mixing: keep Jane, the woman, at home; keep Jane, the detective, at work. Maura thought the rule was dangerously problematic, forcing the woman to split identity into two distinct parts even though personality was anything but. There was no way Jane could maintain the dual identities, but, according to her, she was doing fine until she started dating Maura. Then everything went to hell in an eggbasket.

As Jane walked into her office, Maura rolled her eyes before mouthing the word "nanny" as she closed the door. Jane made a gun with her hands before shooting herself in the head, collapsing on the couch as if she was really dead. As much as she wanted to laugh at her wife's display, Maura returned her focus to the endless complaints regarding Bart still coming ad nauseaum.

"Mrs. Cibowitz, I'd _love_ to continue to conversation but my wife just came in and she's got a gun to her head. Do you mind calling me back in another hour, per our usual arrangement? Tell Bart that his Mommy Jane and Mommy Maura can't wait to see him when we get off work."

"A gun to her head… What is wrong with this family?"

Maura giggled, turning her attention to Jane. "What do I owe this pleasure, darling of my eye?"

Jane groaned, lacing her hands over her eyes.

"Aww I love you too, Jane. But I really need you to use English. I'm just no good at Groanese," Maura said, jokingly. "Does this have something to do with Capt. Day showing up at the crime scene today?"

Jane frowned, remaining still on the couch. Maura wasn't surprised at the detective's reaction. They had been together for too long; she knew her wife like the back of her hand. Any time things got tough for Jane at work was a sure sign that something had managed to touch a nerve. Since she kept her emotions close to her chest at work, something managing to work itself past her defenses was a rare occurrence. When the rare moments did happen Maura did her best to help her deal with it. Rushing Jane to talk never worked unless the goal was to get her furious. The only proven tactic was to slowly bring out the problem into the light, forcing her to deal with the issue instead of hiding it underneath layers of responsibility, expectation, and police protocol.

"You know," Maura began after a brief bout of silence, "we don't have to talk about it here. If you want, we can take a working lunch."

"We all know what a 'working lunch' means for the two of us, Maura. We start to eat, you say something ridiculously scientific, I get turned on, and then we work on having sex," Jane said, lifting her body from the couch with a smile. "As much fun as that always sounds to me, I need to get hot on figuring out where things are with that body and the interviews upstairs."

"So you don't want to talk about the captain?"

"I don't know. I _need_ to talk about it, but I just don't feel like navel gazing is gonna deal with everything that's going through my head regarding…the captain."

"It might not, but there's always the chance that it will. Why not give it a try?"

"Maybe," was all Jane answered after another heavy silence. "Tell me about the case first. Did you find anything after you got the corpse back to the lab?"

Maura stood up with a small folder in hand to sit beside Jane. "I have good and bad news about our John Doe. Good news, he was already in the system."

"Really?" Jane snatched the folder out of Maura's hands, aggressively perusing its contents like the information was going to disappear in ten seconds. "How did you find that out?"

"Every morgue that has completed an autopsy on a body marks it so as to prevent body-snatching or potential confusion. Usually, the process is done on the skin but it used to be common practice to place the identifier on the bones. That's how I found out who are friend is here. All I had to do was run the number through the database and there he was: Danny Jacobs, born 1965 and died 1990."

Jane frowned. "If he was already dead then technically this isn't even a homicide."

"Wait a minute, Jane. Let me finish. His death was left unsolved."

"It says on his autopsy report that he died of cardiac arrest."

"The average twenty-five year old man doesn't just drop dead of cardiac arrest unless they have prior, unmanaged health concerns. Danny did not have prior, unmanaged health concerns. So, _technically_, Danny should still be in the ground and not burnt beyond all recognition in a mausoleum."

Jane looked up at Maura with tired eyes, clearly wanting to pawn this case off on any other unit except Homicide. Maura refused to back down, refusing to let her wife off the hook.

"You really want me to investigate an open case from twenty plus years ago to solve the mystery of why a burnt, dead guy is found at a mausoleum?" Jane asked, slowly. "I've got enough on my case, as is."

"Like how you feel about Capt. Ashley Day, you mean?"

"I don't know how I feel about him."

"And why is that?"

"Because…because it's complicated," Jane said, squirreling away from Maura's obvious attempts to get her to open up. "I'll see what my guys upstairs have gotten out of those wannabee burglars. Maybe something will click with this information about Danny Jacobs. I'll do some work finding out more about Danny in the meantime."

"Jane…"

Maura reached out to Jane as she stood up. "Later, honey. I promise we'll talk later, at home."

"You think you'll last that long? You look like you're going to pistol whip the next person who asks you how your day is going."

"I'll be fine," Jane said, heading toward the door. "Bart's still giving Mrs. Ciboshitz hell, I suppose."

Maura beamed. "Of course. The little devil enjoys terrorizing her for some reason."

"I know. I tell him every morning to keep doing it because it makes me happy. The boy is wicked smart."


	8. Chapter 7

\- Chapter 7 -

_Please don't be here, please don't be here, pretty please with cannoli on top…_

Wishing served little purpose. As Jane walked off the elevator to head toward the rest of the team, the heavy silence that filled the bullpen alerted her to Capt. Day's presence more so than his appearance. Detectives looked awkwardly at her as she walked into the open space, demanding to know why the commander of the entire department was literally breathing down their necks. Given the stressful day-to-day existence of working in Homicide, the unit was known for a playful camaraderie between the detectives coming in and out from cases. Having the captain here put a stop to the fun, putting everyone on edge.

"Captain," Jane began, walking toward the round peg in a square hole that was Day standing in the middle of Homicide. "It's so…lovely to see you again. Care for a drink? We have plain, ol' fashioned bottled water in the ghetto that is the third floor."

Sitting at his desk trying, and failing to look busy, Frost stood up quickly beside the shorter man. "Thank god, he wouldn't leave."

"Get Frankie and Riley in BRIC so we can run down what we've got with the case. Maura's got us a name, something we can use to build the background with and figure out the other four Ws: what, when, where, why."

"What about the Captain?"

Jane turned back to Day with an artificial smile. "What do you need, sir?"

For a brief second, Jane saw a flash of genuine emotion from the man. The childish part of her psyche that still felt a confusing blend of teenage affection for the Captain cheered in excitement for finally managing to get a rise out of the man. Getting a reaction meant that he actually saw her as something other than a little girl struggling with self-esteem issues, her childish self rationalized. But the adult side, the woman, told her that she was jeopardizing her career by playing difficult with the man that could very easily demote her back to detective before sending her to some backwater. Capt. Day had that kind of power. He had used it once when he had restructured IAB to the scary, feared entity it had become after his work was complete. She had to come to terms with this teenage crush that still had a hold over her, regardless of how much it made her uncomfortable to deal with both her teenage years and feelings all in one go.

"Sergeant, your behavior was highly inappropriate with Mr. Doe."

"What can I say? I don't deal with being forced fed bullshit very well." Jane exhaled deeply before gazing down at the captain with petulant eyes. "Let me guess, you want me to apologize to him. Save face to the community, right?"

Day blinked once, twice, and finally three times before releasing a heavy sigh of his own. "No, not this time. You're right. I shouldn't expect you to change your leadership style just because you have risen to a higher paygrade." He began to walk out of the bullpen with his usual strolling gait that always reminded Jane of a Southern dandy. "Do what you, Sergeant. Just be prepared to live with the consequences. When your investigation stalls because of a lack of public assistance, don't expect people like John Doe to forget these moments of irrational irritability."

Jane rolled her eyes. Capt. Day wouldn't still affect her like she was still a kid. His words were nothing more than just words. She could forget them like she did with all of her boss's nonsensical ramblings about her attitude. Even back in the academy she had gotten the same critiques but most people just accepted her quirks as soon as they saw her results. She had one of the best case-solve percentages in the entire division, hell even the state. Breaking down to give the captain what he was looking for from her was not going to happen. Absolutely not.

"Wait, sir," Jane said, blushing slightly. "Can I ask you a question?"

Day just turned back silently, a single eyebrow raised in compliance.

"Do you, uh, remember going to a, um, career day like a long time ago. In the '80s. With kids there?"

_If he says he does, then it'll help me get over this stupid crush_, Jane reminded herself, ignoring the tell-tale signs from her body that asking the simple question was giving her far more angst than she cared to consciously admit.

"A _career day_? In the '80s?" Day chuckled, a rare sound from the captain. "You realize I was in my twenties, right? And we're both cops?"

"Don't give me that, Day. You had a lot of big cases back then."

"Keeping tabs on me, Rizzoli?"

"Just answer the question. Do you remember going to a career day at a Catholic school back in the '80s?"

Day furrowed his eyebrows in thought, clearly trying to figure out what Jane wanted from him. When he was in heavy thought about something his entire body would tense in expectation as if the truth was just around the corner, waiting for him to catch the clues left behind.

"Vaguely but, yeah, I guess I remember a career day back then. A bunch of kids and horny schoolteachers who wouldn't leave me alone. And a punk who thought he'd get me with a crack about my name. Why? One of them part of your extended family and needs a favor? I don't do that sort of thing anymore. Got burned last time."

"Is that it?" Jane asked, eagerly.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Sergeant. It was a long time ago. A lot of things have happened since I was a detective."

"You don't, maybe, remember a girl? A little girl?"

_Please remember me like I remember you._

"Should I?" Day said, absentmindedly playing with a plain gold ring on his left hand. "Again, that was a long time ago. I remember a lot of little girls from that day, but they've all become a single mass of…prepubescent squealing and strawberry deodorant."

"Well…thanks anyway." Jane quickly returned back to being a detective, keeping the frustration off her face. "When I get something definitive with the case, I'll pass it up the chain."

_That was absolutely unhelpful_. Why she had thought asking him about that day now, Jane had no idea. Her ma' had always told her that telling someone what you're thinking is better than keeping it bottled up was better for everyone. But, like all of her ma's advice, it proved to not be applicable in the real world. Maybe the maxim had a shelf-life in which it could have maximum benefit, like the "best before" label on packaged food. Regardless, Jane was just as conflicted concerning her feelings for Day as she was before she had asked him whether he remembered that day.

"All right, everyone. We can take Homicide off pause now that the Scary Captain has left."

All of the detectives that hadn't decided to make a quick exit with the captain's arrival released a cheer of approval. The ban on all fun broke and with it came the familiar sounds of playful banter that characterized the unit. With a shake of her tangled mass of loose curls, Jane made her way to BRIC. Inside the darkened room, her team of detectives sat at the computers. Frost was busy showing Frankie something of interest on the computer while Riley stood stoically near the glass doors, quickly stepping back as Jane made her way to them.

Jane opened the doors. "Sorry about that, guys. Administrative stuff. Let's get back to work." She leaned on one of the empty computer desks near the front of the room so as to keep a close eye on the large screens projecting information to the team. "Maura – sorry, Dr. Isles – told me she's got a name for our Burning Man downstairs."

"Danny Jacobs," Frost interrupted. "Maura sent the info to me via email after she met with you."

"Did the interview with the burglars lead to anything conclusive?"

"Other than the universal fact that being poor makes people do really sick shit like organ harvesting dead bodies? Not really."

"Frankie and I pieced together what she had in her autopsy files on the guy to paint a decent background," Frost said.

Information flashed on the screen in quick bursts allowing Jane to quickly scan through the data to get a summary of Danny Jacobs. It was always interesting to investigate a person after their death. The only closest synonym to the feeling was looking through someone's trash on a regular basis, except without the legality issues. Danny Jacobs was a man, complete with a network of friends, family, significant others, acquaintances and, inevitably, enemies. Finding out who the man was behind the corpse was what made her job difficult and satisfying.

Danny Jacobs. Born in 1965, died at age twenty-five. Child of Rebecca and John Jacobs, a dancer and career military man. The family had jumped around the country before settling in Boston around Danny's fifteenth birthday. A couple of years after John retired, the family had a falling out, leading to Danny disappearing off the radar for a couple of years around his eighteenth birthday. He didn't pop up again until…

"Danny Jacobs was a CI?" Jane asked, bewilderedly. "Which detective was working him?"

"Capt. Ashley Day. Back then he was a detective, though. Second grade." Riley looked up at Jane with a carefully guarded expression. "Sergeant. This looks real bad for the Captain. The payroll shows that Jacobs was paid on the department's payroll for a couple of months as an informant for Narcotics, working as a drug runner. He got the unit some good leads for a while but then things go silent for about a year. He was found dead soon after."

"Riley, you're jumping to conclusions."

Frankie shrugged. "We'll never find evidence to prove he did or didn't have anything to do with Danny's murder, Jane. It's too late after the fact. Whether he did or didn't, we have to question him."

"No," Jane interrupted, acting out a cease motion with her hands, "absolutely not. He's a fellow brother in blue, captain of the division, and…a good guy. We have to give him the utmost professional courtesy. I - we owe him that much."

"_Professional __courtesy_? Really?"

"Yes, Frankie."

"But…"

Jane placed her head in her hands. "I know it sounds like the company line, guys. I don't like it any more than you do. But, let's just, sit on this for a minute. I'll come back tomorrow and make a decision then."

"Sounds like a plan," Frost said. "Bart's probably waiting on you guys at home, anyway. Family before work, right?"

With a curse, Jane glanced at her watch. "Why do you know my schedule better than I do, Frost? It makes me look inept. We'll meet back here at the normal time. Have a good night, guys. You did great today."

Jane released an unexpected sigh while walking to her Korsak's – no, that's not right – _her _new desk. Somehow she had made it through her first day as Homicide's new acting sergeant without any real hiccups. Nothing had burned down, all of the detectives were still breathing, and the captain didn't seem to be ready to demote her anytime soon. Everything had gone relatively well. She grabbed her keys before turning around the emptying bullpen with a proud smile. Slowly but surely, things would return to a level of normalcy as everyone, including herself, came to terms with her new role in Homicide. Tomorrow would probably be absolute chaos, but, at least for now, she could revel in her small achievement.


	9. Chapter 8

\- Chapter 8 -

The local pool near the house was always a popular after work activity for the family. Not only was it relaxing for the Jane and Maura to enjoy the warmed water of the Olympic sized indoor pool but Bart also enjoyed the freedom to kick and paddle to his heart's content. The pool was attached to the large gym where Maura frequently took him to his weekly mommy-and-me classes in everything from yoga to language immersion. They were there on a daily basis during some weeks. Maura knew that Jane thought all of the classes were a tad ridiculous. If it had been up to her, Bart would watch sports all day. Their son needed a constant balance of interaction, mental stimulation, and physical fitness in order to put him on the right track to future success.

Bart giggled endlessly as Maura played alongside their son in the kiddie section of the pool. His inflatable neck floatie kept his head bobbing above the water, little stars and sea-creatures inside the tube meant to keep a child preoccupied. Despite her fears, the risk of drowning was kept at bay even with Bart's loud efforts to create forward movement. Splash, splash, splash. Jane looked on, her legs creating small ripples in the water. The never-ending ripples were magnified in Bart's large, brown eyes, enraptured by the rhythmic movement.

Bart enjoyed swimming in the local pool so much that Maura and Jane always tried to get done with work as early as possible to take him to the local pool in the evenings. Given his high-octane energy level and their crazy schedules, both women made sure the little guy got his pool time at least three times a week. With the late hour, they didn't have to worry about being disturbed. Only a couple of swimmers were getting a couple of laps in while Bart enjoyed paddling in the roped off kiddie section with his two mothers.

"That guy over there needs to calm down just a tad," Jane commented, casually watching a fit man in one of the lanes slice through the water with well-executed butterfly strokes. "This isn't the Olympics, buddy. Tone it down a notch."

Maura rolled her eyes as she got Bart set up for his own version of swimming laps in the pool. He couldn't physically swim like the grown-ups yet, but, given his time spent in the water over the last couple of months, their son was becoming increasingly skilled in attempting to swim around the enclosed space with the assistance of the pool's special arm floaties. Despite their size, Bart was used to them because of the swimming mommy-and-me classes that implemented the device to encourage self-confidence. Clearly the lessons were working better than she had thought. The way that Bart pushed her away upon wearing the device brought a certain degree of pride and sadness to her heart. _He's already pushing me away and he's only six months. What's next? Him making his own meals, asking for the keys to the car?_

"Maura," Jane began, sounding like an overbearing mother. "Don't get that look."

"What look?"

"You know what look. That look like you're crying on the inside but don't want anyone to know so you're holding it together on the outside. It's the same look _my _ma' always had on her face anytime she went to my games and I scored the winning goal or whatever." Jane jumped into the water to direct their adventurous son as he paddled over to the marked off edge, squealing happily all the while. "Stop worrying about Bart. He's doing fine."

"I am _not_ worried about Bart. I just wish he'd be less," Maura stopped abruptly, unsure how to phrase her thoughts, "like you."

"Like me?" Jane laughed. "He takes after _you_, not me."

"And how does he take after me?"

"He, I don't know, cares a lot."

Maura frowned. "Please, tell me you're just setting up for a really sweet sentiment that'll blow me away with the level of thought you put into it."

"Honey…you know me. I'm not full of hidden meanings and allusions. That's your thing." Jane pushed Bart back to Maura's side of the pool with a smile and a quick chat in baby-talk. "What I meant is that you care about people."

"You're a _cop_, Jane. You 'care a lot' too."

"Not as much as you do. You _care._ About people and plants and animals and, hell, things that I don't even see. All of that caring capacity makes you like the sweetest woman I've ever met. Once he's tired out, Bart becomes the sweetest little guy in the world."

Bart continued to waddle through the water toward Maura. She smiled at him, causing his little arms and legs to peddle faster to get closer to Maura's familiar face. Their son only had eyes for her, sadness dissipating with each exuberant giggle. The man who had been doing laps came out of the pool and made an aww sound at the three of them as he walked back to the locker room with a towel.

"See what I mean," Jane said. "He's your son just as much as he is mine. That's not gonna change, no matter how old he gets."

Maura smiled before stretching out to meet Bart, already tired from his lap around the shallow end of the pool. He happily moved into his mother's welcoming arms, independence now forgotten. The boy nuzzled up to Maura's warm breast as if he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"So you going to tell me about Day? We are in home mode, away from our professional obligations, after all."

Jane sighed. "Ask and you shall receive."

"Okay," Maura continued, retying her hair up in a bun, "tell me how you know him. I mean, you obviously knew him from somewhere other than the promotion ceremony."

"I…had a crush on him back in middle school. He was, everything to me back then. Like a person I could be. Like a person I _had _to be."

"For the first time, you didn't feel lost in your own skin."

Jane looked away, eyes shiny with tears. "It's so damn stupid."

From her wife's conflicted expression, Maura could tell that she wasn't trying to hold things back. As difficult as it was for her to talk about, Jane was attempting to open up for Maura and talk things out. She looked like she was one step from bolting from the pool. Maura decided to take things as slow as possible, warming her up to the discussion.

"Honestly, I don't even really like the captain for who he is, as a person. It's not like I think he's attractive. I just, I don't know what it is."

"A misfire."

Jane frowned as she moved to sit next to Maura on the steps leading into the pool. "What's a misfire?"

"A crush is nothing more than a misfire and, therefore, your feelings for the captain are nothing more than a misfire. When you experience a crush for someone or something, your body and mind are both reacting to outside stimuli. The problem presents itself with teenagers because teens are usually not mature enough to understand the distinction between the two."

"Mind and body, you mean?"

Maura nodded. "Exactly. To a teenager, being intellectually turned on via a professor triggers the same response in both mind and body as being sexually turned on to an entertainer of some kind. The two feelings might be distinct subconsciously but the mind or the react as one, creating a coagulated mess of feelings. Without adequate maturity of both one's mind and sexuality, it's hard to separate the original impetus from the misfire, thus, creating the teenage crush."

"That sounds great for explaining my crush for him twenty plus years ago but what about how I feel for him _now_?"

"Well, how _do_ you feel for the captain, _right now_?"

A sudden shiver from Bart's small body interrupted the conversation. Before Maura could even request it, Jane was already standing up to get their son his favorite towel. They wrapped Bart in the warm fabric and he immediately started to snore like a freight train, much like his mother after a hard day.

"The captain was my hero when I was a kid. He's why I wanted to be a detective in the first place. But, now, seeing him as my captain, my boss, makes things hard. I can't rectify the two images in my head," Jane continued, playing with the water-wrinkled skin on her feet. "And, what makes it worse, he doesn't even remember me, but I remember him. Hell, I glorified him into a fucking icon."

"Then unglorify him."

"What?"

"Perfection is symmetry, Jane. True symmetry does not and cannot exist because there are too many variations in the human genetic code. When you take into the infinitesimal account the expressions those variations can take…"

"Maura, later that same day."

Maura sighed, gathering her thoughts. "In your mind, Day means a lot to you because of what he represents. You've idealized him into a symbol, a figure, much like the Pope or an imam. But he isn't that. He can't be that because that person doesn't exist. Capt. Ashley Day is just a man, complete with faults and contradictions."

"And secrets," Jane interrupted, quietly.

Maura knew the look that Jane had on her face. She sometimes called it the bulldog because of the tenacity it promised to release upon its victim. Whatever she had said had clearly given Jane an idea regarding something back at work. With a tilt of the head, Maura placed a hand on Jane's goosebump covered knee.

"Jane, you alright?"

"I need to figure something out regarding the case. I may not be in bed until late tonight."

Standing up from the pool, Maura nodded. This wasn't the first time Jane had gotten all focused nor would it be the last. Having these bursts of creative understanding was what made her such a great detective.

"It's alright, honey," Maura said. "Just don't wake us up when you come in."


	10. Chapter 9

\- Chapter 9 -

Jane had driven to Capt. Ashley Day's brownstone immediately after dropping Maura and Bart back at the house and making sure the two were comfortable. The drive had taken a measly thirty minutes. His place was just a couple of blocks down from their own townhouse. Compared to the rest of the neighborhood, the captain's brownstone stood visibly separate from the others. The wrought-iron gate painted black extended a good ten feet from the brownstone's door, giving the home a decent sized driveway where a sleek Range Rover was parked. Nothing was out of place, just like Day's luxurious office.

With a heavy sigh of resolve, Jane walked from the car to the wrought-iron fence, quickly realizing that it wasn't just a decoration. The fence was locked via a mechanism that was kept inside the house somewhere given the lack of a keyhole. She looked up before noticing the unobtrusive cameras placed all around the perimeter of the captain's home. To minimize her appearance as a potential threat to the security team probably watching her, Jane took out her golden badge and waved it to the cameras. Following a brief second of staring awkwardly at a rider installing a new exhaust on his sport-bike, a loud sound of electronic interference came across on a small two-way speaker next to the gate's entrance.

"Sgt. Rizzoli? You do know what time it is, right?"

"I need to discuss something with you, sir. And, no, it can't wait until tomorrow." Jane could hear the contemplation from Day, contemplation she didn't have time for. If he didn't let her in now, she was afraid she would just lose her nerve. Interrogating the captain of BPD wasn't something she desired to do, especially when it came to what she was going to ask him in regards to the case. This had to happen, tonight.

"Sir, _Ashley_, I need to talk to you. Please," Jane continued.

Another heavy silence before an audible click from the gate signaled Day's acquiescence.

"Rizzoli, I need to know something before you come into my home."

She sighed in response.

"Is this a personal or professional visit?"

"Both."

The speaker turned off, but the gate didn't click for a second time. Jane walked toward the red door before knocking three times. Exactly ten seconds passed before a small boy wearing an oversized fisherman's sweater, leggings, and thick house socks opened the door with a bashful smile. Keeping the door half-cracked, he peeked at the visitor like she was the mailman.

"Well, hello there," Jane said. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Daddy was too slow." The little boy extended a spindly arm from the safety of the home in an attempt to be civil. His fingers shined with a purple jelly substance. "My name's Sam. What's yours?"

"Jane."

"Would you like to come in, Jane? Daddy made me jam cookies."

_What the fuck? Daddy?_

Suddenly the shadow of a man came up from behind the little boy. He opened the door fully to reveal the captain, wearing an old Christmas sweater and black slacks. With a smile, he motioned toward a well-lit room behind him.

"Go help clean up, Sam. Jane needs to talk to me about work."

"Daddy showed me his gun once," the little boy whispered, like it was the biggest secret ever kept between two people. "It was _really _heavy."

Day frowned. "Sam…"

"I'm going, I'm going. It was nice meeting you, Jane."

Sam ran off behind Day, allowing the two to continue their discussion from outside. He opened the door wider to reveal the inner sanctum of the captain. Despite the obsessive-compulsive state of the exterior, the home was obviously lived-in, children's toys flung haphazardly near a chest in the living room and odd dents in the furniture from a child's small feet jumping up and down, up and down, up and down. Two scarves, both brightly colored and incongruous with the bachelor's pad style of the brownstone, were hung up on a small hook on the wall.

"Excuse the mess," Day said, directing her to take a seat on a red couch, pushing aside a sticky, yellow model dump-truck. "He's with me for the month."

"So, Sam isn't your son."

"Oh dear god, no. My brother's a single dad. He's doing business in Australia. Of course, no one in my extended family could take Sam on, so his Uncle Ash is stuck with parental duties. Parental duties that I am _not_ used to dealing with, by the way."

"What's with the 'daddy' thing?"

"My brother and I look alike. When he's not here, I become the temp Daddy. Like a security blanket. Trust me, I know it's kind of weird. Every time I correct him, he starts to," Day's face crinkled in disgust, "cry. Loudly."

Day leaned back into the lumpy softness of the sofa next to Jane. "How's your wife?"

"Fine…I guess. Pissed that I decided to come over here instead of putting our son down for the night."

"Then let's cut to the chase, shall we. What's on your mind, Jane?"

Jane ran her hand through her tangled curls. Her whole body clenched in expectation of what she was going to say. How would he react? Would he be angry, disappointed, frustrated? Day might be her childhood hero but the truth needed to come out. She wouldn't be able to move forward with the case until she knew for sure.

"You know that case we got at the cemetery today? The Burning Man corpse."

Day nodded, playing with a loose thread on the upholstered couch.

"Our medical examiner determined the identity of the body. Danny Jacobs, a former CI who died in 1990. He was _your _CI, Ashley."

"Yes, I remember Danny. He worked a couple of suspects for me when I was a detective in Narcotics."

"Do you know why he died?" Jane interrogated.

He shrugged. "I think it was cardiac arrest."

"His autopsy report states that the death was 'suspicious'."

"Are you insinuating something, Sergeant?" Day asked, turning to face Jane with a look that warned her to be careful with her next words. As much as she wanted to take that warning to heart, she continued forward unabated. There was something about Danny and Day's involvement that was niggling at her cop-sense. All she had to do was keep pulling the threads and she'd get the truth out of him.

"Did you have a hand in Danny Jacobs' death, Ashley?"

Day exhaled a heavy breath. "Don't do this, Jane."

"Do what?"

"You're going down the wrong path. Stop looking at the past and focus on the present. Why is Danny's body even in the mausoleum? Who would burn a corpse that's been dead for twenty plus years?"

"But I can't look into the present without understanding the past."

"I didn't kill Danny. I couldn't have killed him."

Jane watched him subconsciously fiddle with the ring on his left hand with one eye as the other observed Sam in the kitchen. The little boy was attempting to clean up the cooking area by placing the cooled cookies into the cookie jar. Every two cookies placed in the jar were followed by a quick pop of another in Sam's small mouth. With each cookie, he looked back over at Jane and Day with a guilty smile. Two adult aprons covered in flour and jelly hung on a small hook near the refrigerator.

"The statute of limitations has passed on this case. Danny's death was ruled a result of natural circumstances. If you just tell me what you did, the guilt of killing your CI-"

"_I didn't kill Danny_," Day said. "There's nothing to confess. What else do you expect me to say?"

"The truth."

Day narrowed his eyes. "Danny was my boyfriend."

Jane felt her mouth go slack-jawed for a brief second.

"Don't believe me? When he died, I spent the money to have him buried. I even ponied up the cash to get the medical examiner to give him an autopsy. I did it under a false name, but the records are right there."

"Why all the secrecy?"

"I…haven't told anyone about my sexual preferences, Jane. Even back then, I always suspected my secret wasn't as secret as I would have liked. People would never outright accuse me of being gay given my rank, but the whispers made it unnecessary. The idea of him being…murdered to hurt me was on my mind. You have to remember, I was a hotshot detective that actively pushed against rampant crime in the Boston community. It wouldn't have been difficult for a rival to sell my secret to the devil, so to speak."

"But why haven't you…?"

"Come out like you and Maura?" Day continued. "Jane, c'mon, isn't it obvious? I'm the captain of the largest metropolitan division in the state. When would it have been appropriate to share that bombshell? In between the ribbon cutting ceremony at an elementary school for the deaf and blind and making a donut run at DD for my detectives? Besides, being a woman makes the process easier. No one's picturing you getting fucked in the ass, afterhours."

Jane coughed. Well, she hadn't expected that particular confession. It made sense, though. Back when she had been at career day, she remembered how awkward Day had been around the female teachers that had surrounded him like hungry seagulls on a pier. He had actively separated himself from them. Not in a rude way but with a clear purpose. As a teenager, she had assumed that the standoffishness was the result of his role as a detective and wearing the gold badge. In retrospect, Jane began to realize that Day's lack of interest in being around all of the fawning women that day was probably more dependent on his lack of sexual attraction for women as a whole.

"You know, your sexuality doesn't prove anything."

"But it does give you pause. And pause is all it takes," Day said. "My relationship with Danny was…complicated given my career. I know this might come as a shock to you, but BPD hasn't always been open-minded about lifestyle choices as it is now. Back then being gay or even remotely bi-curious was a death sentence for a detective, especially if you happened to be a man. Taking the risk just wasn't worth it."

"But if you loved Danny…"

Day shrugged. "The job meant more to me. Helping people, helping the community, that's what turned me on back then, odd as it might sound. Danny was a…nice distraction. He knew that, I knew that. That's why he never pushed me to come out."

"And I'm back to square one."

"Not quite," Day said. "Now you ask why someone would burn a dead CI employed by the current captain of the Boston Police Department in a mausoleum."

"Easier said than done." Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw an unfamiliar shadow peek out from the hallway, followed by the loud "clomp-clomp-clomp" steps of Day's nephew on the person's heels. She felt her eyebrows rise upon the shadow's reveal around the corner and into the living room. The man was a tall, dark, and handsome, the literal representation of a living Adonis brought to life. His black hair was just long enough to flip back and a peek of the all-holy V slipped out from his tight, red polo. _And I thought I was attractive_, Jane thought, feeling an unusual desire to take out her smartphone and take a selfie with the middle-aged man.

"Ash, you need to do something about Sam. He's way too hyper." The man shifted his gaze to Jane's slack-jawed face. "And you must be the guest that I was supposed to wait upstairs for."

"That would be her, Alex."

Sam jumped up and down on the balls of his feet. "Uncle Alex is Daddy's special friend who sleeps in his bed with the lights off. All of my friends' moms call him 'a hot caramel latte.' Do you think he's a hot caramel latte, too?"

"Umm, he's very nice to look at, certainly," Jane mumbled, blushing.

Everyone looked awkwardly at Sam as he flitted away, completely oblivious to the consequences of his actions. Jane felt her eye muscles struggling to look away from Alex's blushing face but all she could manage was a slow track downward to the all-holy V still managing to reveal itself with each breath the man took. On the other hand, Day just dropped his head with a heavy sigh.

"Let's try to keep this off the record."

"Which part?"

"All of it, preferably."


	11. Chapter 10

\- Chapter 10 -

The next day, back in BRIC, Jane had to deal with the issue of telling her team to back off of the only lead they had for the Burning Man case. She hardly wanted to be the one to break their bubble. Frost and Frankie were trying, and mostly failing, to hide their eagerness to head upstairs to the captain's office. Riley, on the other hand, was focusing her attention on the computer screen, typing at lightning speed as information popped up on screen just as fast. Everyone was ready to go to push this case forward and she had to be the brakes.

"Alright, I didn't want to say it, but we have to drop the Day angle."

Both Frost and Frankie sighed heavily but Riley looked up to her boss.

"You sure?"

"Not really, but I don't have much choice. Day and I had a," Jane stopped abruptly, searching for the right word, "discussion regarding his involvement. Off the record. Ordinarily, I wouldn't hold much stock in that type of conversation but he was genuine. The captain is not involved directly to the case or Danny's death."

Frost frowned, hearing the struggle to keep Day's secret in his former partner's voice. "That it?"

"As much as you're gonna get, sorry."

"We can find another angle," Riley said, optimistically. "There's got to be something else that we can use."

"Good idea. Is there someone or something that's associated with both Danny's death and his unplanned cremation twenty years after the fact?"

Riley brought the same information from last night back onto the screens in front of them. She continued to type on her keyboard as Jane began to study the data for a second time. Her mind rapidly took in information, making connections and determining their legitimacy without needing to speak a single word. Suddenly, an association revealed itself like a shot in the dark. She was surprised she had not noticed it sooner.

"The cemetery."

Frankie turned to his sister. "Excuse me?"

"The link. The cemetery is the link between the two incidents. Danny was found at the same cemetery that he was released to for burial in 1990," Jane said. "Who was the sexton for the cemetery back then?"

"George Doe, father of John Doe, current sexton of the cemetery."

Jane smiled. They finally had their connection, a legitimate connection. Now, all they had to do was close the deal.

"Frost, set up a BOLO on Mr. John Doe. I don't want him trying to make a run for it, the guy's super squirrelly. Frankie and Riley, you two are coming with me to question him." Jane stretched before motioning to the two detectives. "Let's get some answers, guys."

-?-?-?-?-?-

The all-points bulletin proved to be of little use. Their suspect, John Doe, had been holed up in his house for the entire day. He had left once for breakfast and to pick up a couple of his friends, according to the patrol cops assigned to watch him. Jane and the team had gotten the call and raced over to bring Doe into BPD custody.

"He still in there?" Jane asked the patrol officer in command.

The patrol officer nodded, motioning to the front door of the large two-story home on the other side of the street. Weeds broke out from the sidewalk, invading the well-tended yard in front of the Victorian styled brick structure. Paint was peeling from its elaborate façade, reflecting the home's age. Compared to the abandoned houses next to it, however, Doe's home was the better of the group.

"This might be a trap. You did a check of the periphery for any kind of surprises?"

"Nothing, over then a really bad weed infestation. There are some noises coming from a room upstairs."

Jane looked to her team to make sure everyone was adequately protected. She made a motion to Frankie to knock on the door to Doe's house. Like a bad movie, Doe didn't respond to Frankie's knock, forcing her to be more aggressive. With another subtle motion, Frankie stepped back to allow the patrol officers enough room to bash the door down with force.

"Boston Police Department," Jane said, moving into the darkened home. "Let's go upstairs. He's not down here."

They quickly made their way up to the room where the nexus of noise emanated. Several voices were arguing back and forth passionately, followed by the sound of small, heavy objects being thrown on to a flat surface of some kind. Jane and Riley both brought their guns out to be ready for any sort of issues while the patrol officers announced their presence verbally, getting no response in return. Jane nodded, giving them the signal to bash the door down.

"BPD, put your hands up. Right now."

Jane lead with her gun first, followed by her body, into the small bedroom. Four men, including John Doe, surrounded a heavy table where the accoutrements of a fantasy card game littered the flat surface. Much like the nervous tendencies of John Doe, she noticed the way each of the men shuffled awkwardly in place, refusing to make eye contact with her. All of the men managed to look up briefly in confusion at the police officers who were pointing guns and screaming at them like they were common-day criminals before returning back to the exciting focus of the video-game posters decorating the bedroom walls.

"Sergeant Rizzoli?" Doe said. "Is something wrong? What are you doing in my house?"

"What are you doing?"

"Playing _Magic: The Gathering_. We have a tournament coming up. I think we have a good chance of making the Pro Team this year."

Jane frowned. "Are you serious?" She holstered her gun and the rest of the team followed suit. "Mr. Doe, we need to talk to you about the body we found in the mausoleum. And no, we can't wait."

"I thought you said no one would find out, Doughboy?"

"Excuse me?" Jane said, turning to the taller man of the group. His face was covered in red blotches of acne, but she could tell he was blushing given the flush of red that gave him the appearance of an overripe tomato. She felt an unhealthy desire to squeeze him to see if juice came out of his pores. _He knows something that he's not telling me_, Jane concluded, instantaneously.

"Listen, little boy, if you know something about an open case, it is your responsibility to tell me, the lead detective on the case in question, what you know."

The tall man lowered his head submissively, his friends quickly separating themselves from him and John Doe. Sensing an opening, Jane stepped forward, confronting the weak link with her most powerful gaze. Maura always called it her thousand-yard stare, the result of being a perpetual badass for far too long. The reference always brought a dramatic eye-roll from her. She applauded Maura for trying to bring a pop culture reference into their day to day actions – finally, she was cracking the culturally inept woman down after years of dating – but the reference was a tad dark for her personal tastes.

"Either you start talking or Doe starts. But someone _will _be talking by the time I count to three or, so help me God, your little card game will turn into a massacre."

Jane motioned to Frankie and Riley. The two detectives quickly caught the drift, smiling evilly at Doe and his friend. With a flick of the wrist, the two each took out a lighter from their pockets, playing with the ignitor. Like clockwork, the sound of a spark was followed by a flash of flame before being put out. Spark, flash, out. Spark, flash, out. Spark, flash, out. A never ceasing game of fear meant to evoke a reaction from the guilty looking men. As Frankie and Riley stepped ever closer to the cards splayed across the table, Doe and his friend began to visibly sweat in panic.

"Woah, woah, woah," Doe said, anxiously. "There's no need to threaten me with violence against our cards. We've got Mythic Rares, for goodness sakes. _Mythic Rares_."

"So?"

"They're like really valuable cards, Jane. Some of these, I've only read about in catalogs, they're so rare," Frankie explained, showcasing the inner nerd he usually saved for his weekly outings with Frost and Suzie. "I know this is probably the wrong time to ask, but would you guys mind if I take a selfie with some of these? Frost will never believe I actually saw an Alpha Black Lotus."

Jane coughed loudly. "Can it wait, Frankie?"

"Sorry, Sergeant."

"I'm still waiting on you to tell me something, Doe."

"There's nothing to tell. I admit, I burned the body. But I made sure it was a body that no one was going to miss."

"And how did you make a determination like that?" Jane asked.

"It was easy. Every time a gravestone is left with flowers, teddy bears, any kind of memorial, I have to document in the database to keep track of which areas receive the most visitors, where future bodies should be placed, which holidays are the most popular for visitors to come and pay their respects to the dead. For the last ten years, Lot 344A was routinely lower than average in regards to visitors."

Jane frowned. "I highly doubt that _no _one came to visit him in the last ten years."

"Two. Lot 344A got the same two visitors, every year. A bouquet of cheap daisies, probably his mother, and a man would leave one single piece of rose quartz. If the grave was disturbed, no one would question it. Just maintenance, nothing more."

"Lot 344A has a name, Doe," Jane said, annoyed. "Danny Jacobs."

"Regardless, he wouldn't be missed. The only reason you guys noticed was because those random burglars had a key to the mausoleum and were unlucky enough to get caught by my ancient team of security guards. My plan was to come back in the morning, clean up, and rebury the remains. No one would have known the difference."

Unable to speak, Jane turned back to her team with a look of disbelief. Doe was confessing which was great but something about him made her unsettled. He was telling the truth about burning the body, yet he lacked the critical element that she called the killer instinct. In all of her years as a detective, every murderer she had come across had an overwhelming level of darkness within them that led them to take another life. John Doe, as oddly awkward him and his friends were, he certainly wasn't a depraved murderer satisfying a need to kill. He didn't even have a legitimate reason to kill, not to mention, burning a corpse hardly denoted a desire to kill.

"Okay, I'm still really confused about key elements of this case. Why did you burn Danny's body, in the first place?" Jane asked. "Is this your way of developing a M.O. for future kills?"

The tall man twitched his leg, a nervous tick. "Future kills? What are you talking about? We just wanted to impress our friends in the Kill Club."

_Here we go, some real action_.

"Someone please tell me what the hell a Kill Club is."

Doe and the taller man looked awkwardly at each other. They seemed to be silently debating their decision to remain silent.

"Well…the Kill Club is just a gathering of like-minded individuals," Doe said, resignedly.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like-minded individuals who enjoy killing innocents."

"No. We don't kill anything. All we do is, study crimes. Like serial killers and freak accidents. That's all we do, really. I mean, c'mon, look at us. The whole group is just like us, a bunch of nerds with a lot of expendable income and weird interests. Do you really think we could kill anyone?"

"You know, Jane, I've heard of things like this. It might seem a little weird, but a lot of big cities have groups where people get together to discuss Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper, Laci Peterson. All the biggies," Riley said. "It's completely above board. They do ID checks and everything to make sure no one is underage or, well, really weird."

"Speaking from first-hand experience, Detective?"

Riley blushed. "Frankie and I, uh, kinda, went together a couple of months ago. Like a, sorta, date. We thought it would be fun."

With a smile, Jane mentally filed away the embarrassing tidbit regarding her favorite new couple. She quickly returned her focus to their suspects.

"So back to this Kill Club. Where does the burning of the corpse come in at? And what about the bones being cut up?"

"A lot of serial killers like to burn their bodies to get rid of evidence. I decided to film an actual corpse being burned to show at the next meeting as a sort of, I don't know, artistic statement. The Kill Club's organizers have recently decided to allow artistic expression inspired by serial killers to be exhibited. $500 is the grand prize." Doe sighed heavily, scratching his head. "If even one of us can make it to Pro Tour, we're going to need money. We don't want to start selling our cards so…entering this art competition seemed like a good bet. Michael," he nudged his taller friend, "has an MFA from USC."

"And the bones being cut up?"

Doe blushed. "Michael said the video would have more artistic impact with the chainsaws and a couple of the Kill Club members got a little…overzealous."

"So. You're telling me that you took a corpse from its resting place and burned it in a mausoleum. All for the purpose of making money for a _professional nerdvana fest_. That about it?"

"Essentially, yeah."

"Couldn't you just use your savings or something?"

Doe and his friends looked at each other with raised eyebrows before erupting in laughter. Jane watched the group with a raised eyebrow of her own, obviously confused.

"With grad school loans and basic costs of living, we barely have enough money to enter tournaments for _Magic_ on the regular," Doe said. "Are you…going to arrest us for something? I swear, I'm planning on returning Lot, sorry, _Danny_ back to his resting place as soon as the body is released back to the cemetery."

Jane shook her head with a sigh. She really didn't want to arrest the two of them. They were just trying to make some money for their stupid card game. But the law was the law. Doe could easily be charged with disinterring a dead body which carried a potential sentence of up to three years or a $5000 fine. Either way, he'd be up the creek without a paddle. All she could hope for was the guy would scrounge up a quality lawyer to get the charge down to something more manageable. Her job was complete, however. Let the justice handle it from here.

"This really sucks. Frost and Riley, take the two of them in for custody. Frankie, call the captain to let him know he needs to put on his good suit for our press conference. God forbid the 'community' not know that a 'killer' is now safely in the hands of the BPD," Jane said. "Damn it. I hate press conferences."


	12. Chapter 11

A/N - Last chapter...not completely happy with this ending, but it is what it is, as I say. Thanks in advance for reading, leaving comments, and supporting this series. If it wasn't for all of you, I would have stopped writing R&amp;I fanfiction somewhere around Casey being magically cured and Jane's equally magical pregnancy.

* * *

\- Chapter 11 -

After the case and the ridiculously long press conference – _no, I don't think our suspects should be considered dangerous; yes, they surrendered peacefully; no, the suspects are not a part of a sleeper cell funded by militant fringe groups _– Jane had done something she hadn't done since closing her first case in Homicide. She got in her car, put the key in the ignition, and just drove, aimlessly. Late afternoon traffic had begun to peter into the free-flowing stream of dimmed headlamps meandering down empty lanes, allowing her to just cruise around the streets she knew like the back of her own hand.

Jane reluctantly stopped at an abandoned gas station, unable to keep running. She had to call Maura, tell her where she was. But she didn't want to go home, not yet. For the last couple of days, everything had been moving in rapid speed. As shocking as it was to her own psyche, all Jane wanted was a little bit of time she could call her own, a rare moment of self-reflection.

Looking at the crumbled mess of the gas station around her, refusing to make eye-contact with the homeless man making his way over to her window to ask for change, Jane lowered her head to the steering wheel with a heavy sigh. Her long curls descended like a velvet curtain over her face, an old habit from her awkward preteen years. She had been trying to hide her face from Day back then also. Back then she had been a kid, uncomfortable with fitting in and not fitting in, all at the same time, but now she just wanted some privacy. The meeting with Day – and his subsequent reveal as a card-carrying member of the LGBT crowd – had left her more confused regarding her feelings for the captain than she had been beforehand. Maybe the crush was nothing more than – what did Maura call it? – a misfire, a simple result of circuits responding to the wrong things at the wrong time. If that was the case, what was the misfire then? Her sexual awakening after the fact or her obsessive desire to be a detective?

"Damn it," Jane said, slamming her head on the steering wheel. "Can this be any more unhelpful?"

Jane looked over at her cell, expecting it to ring. Maura was going to call, ask her where she was. It was only a matter of time, given how nosy her wife could be when it came to checking up on those she cared about. Normally, she wouldn't have cared, but the last thing she wanted to do was come home with all of this…shit on her mind. It wasn't fair to just dump all of her clusterfuck of mental angst upon her wife considering everything Maura had to deal with on a daily basis as chief medical examiner, not to mention, nothing would get resolved. As soon as her feet crossed over the threshold, Jane became Mommy Jane, all problems pushed aside in their carefully constructed work compartment until she chose to reopen it. Maura sometimes bitched her out about her compartmentalization of work versus family life when she was in a rare mood but that was the way she wanted, no needed, it to be for her own sanity. The problem with compartmentalizing was that it frequently created these grey spaces that couldn't be easily shuffled into neat rows and boxes in her mind. Spill-over, she called it.

_I've gotta find an outlet, a non-judgmental outlet_.

A few minutes of pitiful head-bashing against the wheel passed before Jane rose up with a start. Why didn't she think of it before? He was the only option, the only person who wouldn't think of her as a sergeant, wife, daughter, or mother. She quickly restarted the car, squealing out of the abandoned gas station like a woman possessed. Her mind raced just as fast as the car as she switched lanes, sped up, and drifted through corners to reach her destination. The few cars still out on the streets could do nothing but move out of Jane's way as the woman skillfully negotiated back roads.

In what had to be a record setting time, she skidded into a parking space across the street from his suburban house just as he was getting out of his car. The older man promptly dropped his Dairy Freeze ice-cream cone, the soft-serve immediately beginning to melt out of the waffle cone and onto his shiny, new oxfords.

"Jane?" Korsak said, mouth agape. "Dear god, was that a handbrake turn?"

"Maura let me go back to racing school for Christmas. And where the hell have you been?"

"Well, hello to you, too."

Jane frowned as she walked across the street with giraffe strides. "Korsak, you left me all alone to handle your job while you get to lividup in the rat squad. Then you go all silent. If anyone should be pissed, it's me."

"Live it up? Me? When? And more importantly what are you talking about?" Korsak exhaled calmly, shifting his weight slightly before returning back to his solid position against his former partner's intense gaze. "Slow it down for a second, Jane. I never could follow your thought process when you just threw things at me like this."

Jane released her tension in a sigh of her own, unaware she had been holding her breath. As emotionally overwhelmed as she was to see Korsak after several months of absence, she had to be clear with him. Even when they had been partners, the older man had had to ask her to rein it in, forcing her to use patience.

"Why'd you just…leave?"

Korsak shuffled awkwardly in place, sticking his hands in his suit pockets. "I didn't want to get in your way. You know you wouldn't have wanted me there anyway."

He had a point. She wouldn't have wanted him there during the investigation. Korsak watching her fumble the ball on her first case was the last thing she wanted her old partner to see. She respected him far too much for that.

"Did you hear about my case?"

Korsak smiled, proudly. "I saw you on the news at the café. Great job, by the way."

"And I had to work with the captain."

"The community crusader himself, huh?" Korsak said. "I told you that one day you'd have to deal with this, you know. You have a habit of letting things sit around and fester."

"Trust me, I know. Maura tells me the same thing."

A brief second of comfortable silence waded into the conversation. The two former partners stood before each other, equally expecting the other to fill the gap. A trail of ants began to make their way to the forgotten ice-cream cone and its melting sweetness covering the bottom of the detectives' shoes.

"Did you tell him? About meeting him back in middle-school?"

Jane nodded, her eyes lowered.

"You want to come inside for a beer?"

With a smile, Jane looked up at Korsak's mischievous face. Despite the sexual connotations, "coming inside for a beer" was an old term they made up when they had been partners. After the scary shit that went down with Hoyt, she had been sidelined until her hands and emotional wounds had healed. They had only been partners for a couple of years. There had still been a level of mystery regarding each other's background. When she had been recuperating, Korsak always invited her to come inside for a beer, an esoteric phrase that meant he wanted to have a heart-to-heart with her. After nearly losing his partner to a sociopathic serial killer, he always made sure to provide her with an emotional sounding-board, no strings attached. Sometimes they'd talk about anything and everything over a Sam Adams, other times the beer was replaced with an old recorded football game from back when the Raiders were the coolest team on the West Coast. Regardless of the noun used, the phrase was an excuse to connect with Korsak as a detective, friend, and father-figure. With his move to internal affairs, she had assumed the offer was now null-and-void.

"I don't know if I'd be good company, Sergeant," Jane said, the old words coming back to her tongue like the summery taste of her ma's homemade watermelon jam.

"Good thing I don't judge then."

-?-?-?- FIN -?-?-?-


End file.
